


The Badger Manoeuvre

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: when plans go awry [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Loki (Marvel), Brotherly Bonding, Established Relationship, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Loki Is Bad At Feelings, M/M, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Past Torture, Protective Loki (Marvel), Protective Thor (Marvel), Texting, Tony will give him one, serious liberties taken with Norse Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Loki had never really been the type to put his own life on the line for the sake of the universe, but in recent years he’s found something that’s worth fighting for. Separated from his new home by the force of circumstance, he’s going to have to face his fears if he’s to have even a chance of saving that which he holds most dear.





	1. the nicest word there is

**Author's Note:**

> **This is Loki's pov of chapters 3-8 of the Midgard Offensive–** sorry, if you're not reading that, this will be hard to follow.  
>   
>  As per usual it was getting much longer than expected, so I've decided to post half now, and then as planned, post the rest after I've finished writing chapter 8 of Midgard Offensive. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A lot of things would have been easier had Loki remained in Midgard, but recent events had unfortunately taught him that easy did not always amount to most successful._

The elevator ride was uncomfortably silent, the quiet whirr of the well-oiled gears the only sound louder than their breathing. Anthony’s hand was warm and damp in Loki’s, almost too warm, but Loki relished in the feeling and curled his fingers tighter still into the touch. Thor and the Captain were looking away from them with an obvious attempt at courtesy, but their inability to be subtle merely added to the awkwardness. Nonetheless, the moment was precious, and when the elevator slid to a stop and they all stepped out, Loki couldn’t help but pull Anthony in closer for a few more stolen touches. The human fell into Loki’s arms willingly, pliantly, their bodies fitting together just as well as they always had. Loki felt like there were words caught in his throat as Anthony leaned up to press their foreheads together, and his breath gushed out in a long exhale at the added contact.

“I love you,” Anthony said. “Never forget that.”

“Never,” Loki replied, and it was the easiest vow that he had ever made. He tilted his chin to catch Anthony’s lips with his own, kissing him softly and with a sweetness that he had never thought himself capable of before this mortal had turned his whole world on its head.

“You’re coming back.” Anthony’s words were clearly meant to be strong and sure, but they came out as more of a plea as they whispered across Loki’s lips. Before the god could comfort him, Anthony pressed back in for another kiss and Loki was loath to end it, but he knew Anthony would need the reassurance.

“This isn’t a goodbye,” he said firmly, his hands coming to rest at the small of Anthony’s back, holding him as tightly as he dared. “I’ll see you again, my love, when Thanos has come to regret ever thinking he can harm me with no consequence.”

And, of course, Thanos would come to regret all the hurts he had brought on Anthony, the nightmares chief among them. It was a pain that still ached in the back of Loki’s mind, the knowledge that he had played a part in the visions that had Anthony crying out at night, and he would take his retribution gladly from the one who forced him to attack such a perfect creature.

“Be careful,” Anthony ordered, unaware of Loki’s turbulent thoughts. “And keep in touch, damn you, JARVIS will get upset if you stay out of contact like you did before.”

“Oh, will he?” Loki asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his words.

“Yes,” Anthony said. “And so will I, you bastard. I’m going to miss you.”

Anthony’s voice was impossibly fond, shaking slightly with an undercurrent of anguish that Loki wished he could smooth away. But there was nothing he could say that would help– he had to go, not only because Thor needed him, but because if he did not, Thanos would have an even greater advantage and the repercussions would come down on Midgard all the worse.

So Loki did the only thing he truly wished to do in that moment, and leaned down to kiss Anthony one final time. Anthony kissed him back with such passion and desperation that Loki almost whined, his fingers digging deep into Anthony’s back, tears almost coming to his eyes from the force of the raw emotion they were both pushing into the kiss.

How was Loki supposed to leave this? How was he supposed to be able to pull himself away from the one creature in the universe who truly understood who he was?

 _Like a bandaid._ Anthony’s voice invaded his mind, a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago. Loki had asked what the Midgardian phrase meant, and while he could understand the concept, he disliked the general theory. He’d usually been one to avoid something painful entirely, to sidestep the problem until it disintegrated on its own. ( _Bandaids on bullet holes_ , Anthony had said then.) But this wasn’t something he’d just be able to ignore, and he didn’t think he would be able to cope with a long, emotional parting.

So he did the only thing he could think of to protect his own heart, and pulled away from the warmth of Anthony’s hold in a harsh, sudden movement.

It took more strength than he thought he had to walk away, and his voice was pained and impatient as he called for Thor to join him on the edge of the landing pad. It would have been easier, perhaps, to remain facing the city, but he couldn’t help one final, indulgent look.

Anthony hadn’t moved. He was rooted in place where Loki had left him, one of his hands still partially outstretched, ignorant of how the Captain had moved closer to him in an attempt to comfort. Their eyes locked as Thor raised Mjölnir, and Loki forced his lips to curve up into a smirk, still adamant that he would leave Anthony with the knowledge that Loki was _fine_ , that he would be back in no time at all.

He wasn’t sure that he succeeded, but there was no way of knowing, for in that moment Heimdall sent down the Bifröst and Loki was whipped away from his home in a whirlwind of colour and noise.

—•—

Emotional turmoil did not prevent Loki from sticking his landing as gracefully as always, and he strode from the Bifröst with all the poise of a returning prince.

“You look well, Loki,” Heimdall said, and Loki barely spared him a glance as he moved to continue on his way, wanting to start on his duties immediately so that he might return to Midgard all the faster. But the small glance was enough to shock, and _then_ Loki’s steps faltered.

Heimdall had always been a constant in Loki’s life, an irritating reminder of Odin’s all-encompassing presence. For as long as Loki could remember he had always looked exactly the same, always standing guard with his bright gold armour and his ever watchful eyes, never with even a strand of hair misplaced. But—

A bloody slice marred Heimdall’s usually stoic expression, cutting across his left cheekbone. Half of the injury was covered, however, by the golden eye-patch that was slotted perfectly under his helmet, covering Heimdall’s incredible, all-seeing eye. Except… Loki felt his lips part in shock as his gaze shifted to the right side of Heimdall’s damaged face, only barely managing to hold in his gasp as he noticed that Heimdall’s remaining eye was not the burning gold it had always been, but a dark, anguished brown.

“So you’ve noticed,” Heimdall said grimly, his lips pressing into a narrow line as his single eye watched Loki with grim torment. “The Mad Titan landed a heavy blow on us all.”

“Can you not see?” Loki asked, horrified.

“No longer,” Heimdall confirmed. “He would have blinded me entirely had the Allfather not stepped in when he did. I was more fortunate than many others.”

Loki’s eyes widened, but not out of sympathy. This was… far from ideal. If Heimdall had lost his sight then Asgard had lost its most trusted early warning system, and they were in far direr straits than Loki had hoped.

“You see why we need your help,” Thor said, stepping past Loki and gesturing for him to follow out onto the rainbow bridge. “Come now, brother. Come and see what remains of our home.”

 _This was never my home_ , Loki was about to say, but the words didn’t quite make it past his lips. Even from the furthest edge of the bridge, Asgard looked _broken_ , and there was something so unsettling about seeing the place where he grew up battered and beaten and devastated beyond measure. Loki felt like something had reached into his soul and dragged out all of the jagged edges he tried to keep buried, tearing at his insides on the way up and out.

Despite the sight Thor was strong as ever, walking to the exit with his shoulders back and his head held high. Loki, never to be outdone, held just as perfect a pose as he followed. An Einherji met them on the bridge with horses and Loki was half glad that his feet would be saved, but equally as disgruntled– he would have to face Asgard’s people all the sooner.

“Are you worried?” Thor asked, noticing his hesitation.

Sneering, Loki mounted his horse immediately, noting that it was a mare from the royal stables– a handsome animal that he recognised, but not the stallion he had been gifted as a young man. He wondered what had happened to him.

They rode in silence, for which Loki found he was thankful. Thor was sombre, his eyes dark as they crossed the bridge– the bridge, Loki noticed, which was perfectly intact.

That, of course, made perfect sense. No one knew the capabilities of the Bifröst as a weapon more intimately than Loki himself, and it was information that Loki was shamed to admit he had divulged in exchange for a few hours peace from the torments of the Other.

Waiting on the palace steps was a sight that Loki had expected but dreaded, and he sighed heavily as he dismounted.

“My friends!” Thor exclaimed, leaping from his horse with renewed enthusiasm to greet the pair of weary warriors– weary, for Loki noted that the inseparable group of four had been whittled down to two, and the remaining members had not survived easily.

Sif bore the mark of a long and arduous battle, with a jagged cut marring the usually smooth white skin across her sword arm, a dark bruise blemishing the underside of her jaw, her hair shorn short and uneven. Her nose was bent and disfigured, probably due to her stubbornness and refusal when offered treatment after the battle. Loki could imagine that the badly healed nose was in direct correlation to the care that Fandral had clearly been given.

The blonde was as put together as always, save that he possessed one fewer limbs than the last time Loki had laid eyes on him. His leg had been skilfully made, Loki noted, but it was still clearly a construction, the metal gleaming where his leather trousers hadn’t quite been tucked properly into his boot. But he was walking well, considering he could only have had the prosthetic for a few days, only the slightest limp and tilt to his left that Loki could pick out with his sharp eyes.

Neither seemed surprised to see Loki with Thor, though it was Sif who stalked forward with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Brave of you, to show your face _now,_ ” Sif snarled. “People have died, and where were you? Cosying up with your little mortal lover on Midgard—“

“Sif,” Thor barked, but Loki held up a hand to silence him. He didn’t need his brother fighting his battles.

“I was unaware of the events which transpired here,” Loki told her, keeping his voice even. “Had I not been banished, perhaps I would have been here to give my aid.” Of course he would not have left Anthony, banishment or no, but that was not a factor that Sif needed to be made aware of.

“And who’s fault was that?” Sif asked, her voice deadly poison. “You drove your father and your brother to punishing you– you only have yourself to blame for your abandonment of those who needed you!”

A sharp pain stabbed deep into Loki’s heart, Sif’s accusations far too close to Thor’s words after Frigga had died for Loki to ignore. But he refused to allow her to see how she affected him, so he stood tall, tilting his head with an arrogant smirk.

“Those who needed me?” Loki taunted. “You wouldn’t be including yourself amongst them, would you, Lady Sif? Surely you have never needed my simple _tricks_ to aid you in battle?”

“How dare you,” Sif spat, her hand on her sword as she stepped closer. “How dare you insult me, insult all of us who—“

“Sif, stop,” said Fandral, his voice soft despite the firmness of his interruption. “Loki was not away out of malice, he was protecting Midgard on the orders of the Allfather. Surely, you cannot begrudge him that?”

“He should have been protecting his _home_ ,” Sif insisted.

“I _was_ ,” Loki replied harshly, and he was not so redeemed that he didn’t take pleasure in the way that Sif’s eyes widened as she physically took a step back, her whole body tensing.

“You lie,” Sif replied stiffly. “You would never see that place as your own, not without conquering it first.”

“Come now, Sif,” said Thor, sending a pleading look to Loki as he gestured for her to walk beside him. “Tell me how Asgard has fared this past night.”

“No worse than the night before,” Sif replied, shooting Loki one final glare. But she never could resist Thor, and so as they walked for the throne room, she began to speak of damage reports and those who had been treated by the healers. Loki meant to listen as he walked behind them, knowing the information would be useful, but Fandral interrupted his attempt by matching his strides to come up on his left.

“I would thank you,” Fandral said quietly, “For coming back to help us, even when we have done little for you in the past.”

Loki was surprised but hid it well, keeping his impassive mask in place.

“Thank you, Fandral,” he said, his voice carefully instilled with the cool arrogance of a prince. “I am merely here as a favour to my brother. When that is complete, I shall return to my _mortal lover_.”

“Mortal no longer,” Sif muttered, turning back to face the two she had clearly been eavesdropping upon before glaring at Loki harshly and adding– “We all know it was you who stole that apple, Loki. That was treason—“

“And as such, the crime may be pardoned by the grace of the king,” Loki snapped. “Thor has forgiven me, and that is all that matters.”

“There was nothing to forgive in the first place,” Thor said.

“Here, Sif,” said Fandral, “walk beside me. Allow Loki to walk with his brother.”

Sif’s cheeks flushed red with anger, but again she did not object, leaving Loki able to step beside Thor. It was a move by Fandral that would not go unnoticed– Loki’s place, before Thor had even become king, had always been behind his brother as the younger prince. That Sif had walked beside Thor earlier was not unexpected but it was an insult, considering it put Loki behind her. While it was not something Loki was willing to waste bitterness on, it did make him wonder what Fandral was up to in upsetting her.

Thor merely smiled and continued their solemn march through the battle-scarred halls, the evidence of the horrors that had taken place evident all the way through the palace. It put Odin’s actions in perspective– he had waited until the last possible moment to access the Stones, unwilling until the very last to give in to that allure of absolute power.

Odin had been a fool. Loki would do far better.

—•—

The meeting in throne room had gone smoothly, all things considered. Asgard’s high council had welcomed Thor back and updated him on the same happenings as Sif had described in the short walk through the halls, and while they glared at Loki in distaste - no doubt remembering the trials Loki put them through during his time masquerading as Odin - for the most part, they merely welcomed Thor home, hoped for his extended stay, and then wished their king well. They didn’t spare a word for Loki, but he found he didn’t mind– he had a job to do, and they would probably only get in the way while he tried to do it. He would work better without their attempted interference.

“Your old rooms remain untouched,” Thor said afterwards, as he and Loki walked alone from the hall.

“More due to neglect than any remaining sentiment on Odin’s part, I’m sure,” Loki drawled, though inwardly, he was pleased. Being back in Asgard, a place that was once safe but now riddled with those who did not look kindly upon him was disconcerting enough. He did not need to be disquieted by an unfamiliar bed as well.

Loki was thankful when Thor left him at a junction in the hall, not wishing to suffer the indignity of being led to his own room like a misbehaving child. It hadn’t been overly long since he had last slept here, after all– it had only been a few years since his fall from the Bifröst. He remembered the way well enough.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, Loki paused for a moment at the threshold, taking in the sight. It really did appear as though he had left the room mere hours before– Thor must have called for the cleaners in anticipation of his agreement to the trip, as there as not even a speck of dust. It was jarring to see it so unchanged, a relic from a time long gone. So much had changed while the rooms remained stagnant– the boy who used to live in those chambers would never return, but Loki held the memory of that boy close to his chest, no longer ashamed of his old naivety. Without the trusting innocence, arrogance, and violence of the past, Loki would not have all that he did. It was something that he had accepted several months before while sitting upon a cliff in Malibu, and while he would never be appreciative of everything Odin had done, he could recognise its benefit.

Loki spent some time simply sifting through his old things, not reminiscing but rather assembling objects that he might wish to bring back to Midgard. He skimmed past his old finery in favour of running his fingers along the spines of the books in the many shelves along the walls, and examining the still fresh samples of rare plants and animals that he had acquired all over the Nine Realms, a collection that would take years to recreate. He ignored Thor’s summons to dinner, and instead simply stole some food from the kitchens with the help of a minor spell he had learned as a child and continued with his categorisation.

Coming to Asgard had been a good idea after all, Loki decided. Even if his examination of the shields proved unnecessary and the Aether was already lost, he had a lot to gain from the venture. At least within the seclusion of his own mind, he could admit he was glad that he had listened to Thor.

When he grew tired, however, Loki found himself merely lying in the too-large bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms stretched awkwardly by his sides. It was ridiculous– it was _pathetic_ , that he couldn’t rest without the warmth of another body beside him. While he had shared a bed with many other creatures in the past, he had never cared for staying afterward– always preferring his solitude in sleep, never quite trusting of others even before he became Asgard’s adversary. But Anthony had wished to hold Loki close right from the start, and Loki had never been able to deny him. Loki had spent many nights away from Anthony before, of course– at first, when he was still wary of their relationship, and then later, when he had searched for a way to steal from Iðunn. He still left Midgard on occasion, but almost without a conscious decision his trips had become shorter and shorter, and in recent months he rarely left for longer than a few hours.

Of course, none of this was an entirely new revelation. Loki hadn’t been lying when he told Anthony why he had collected the apple, when he’d said that he couldn’t imagine a future for himself without Anthony in it. And while a parting such as this would be a useful test as to whether he _could_ function alone, he didn’t see the necessity of such a thing. Anthony would live just as long as an Aesir - just as long as a _Jötunn_ \- and so any speculation on true separation was decidedly trivial.

Still, it was pitiful that Loki found his bed too cold even after conjuring extra blankets, and the mattress too soft without the almost uncomfortable lumpiness of another person sharing it. There was too much _space_ without Anthony’s elbows poking into Loki’s ribs, and as he lay under the dark green canopy that had been his safe haven as a child, Loki didn’t think that he had ever before felt so isolated.

When sleep came it was fitful, haunted by the agonising slices of knives, the excruciating sensation of intangible needles drilling into his mind, and the resounding echo of a dark, harrowing chuckle.

—•—

The next morning, Loki had no trouble ensuring that he rose early to adequately prepare himself for the day. His broken sleep had guaranteed that his muscles were sore, and he was not in a particularly pleasant mood when Fandral came to collect him from his door, eliminating any remnants of good will that Thor’s gift of privacy had elicited the night before.

“I do not need to be shown the way to breakfast,” Loki snapped, and his expression must have been something impressive, given the way that Fandral’s eyes widened. But the warrior held fast, and gave Loki a bright smile.

“I’m not here to take you to breakfast,” he said. “Thor asks that you eat separately this morning." 

“I must admit, I would believe you more had you not insinuated that Thor was already awake,” Loki drawled. “It is not yet noon.”

“Oh come now, Loki,” Fandral said cheerily. “You know Thor is much changed. He is already supervising a council meeting."

“Is he.” Loki narrowed his eyes– it was not difficult to read between the lines. A council meeting this early would be taken over breakfast, and if Loki had not been invited, it was because the council members did not want him there. Despite Thor’s assurances, he was still not trusted.

“So what am I to do then?” Loki asked. “Starve, I suppose?”

“Of course not. A meal has been set aside for you, and taken to the library. There are several seiðkonur there, waiting for your opinion on the shield that the Allfather placed around our city.”

“Why would I wish to go to the library?” Loki asked with a frown, though it was more for Fandral’s benefit than his own. He already knew what was happening– he just wanted to observe Fandral’s response.

“Because– well, the sorceresses,” Fandral argued. “They have been observing and recording information about the shield themselves. They wish to show you.”

Loki shook his head. “I would have to check their work anyway. It will be faster for me to do it myself.”

“I have been ordered to take you to the library,” Fandral said firmly.

“So you _are_ here to escort me,” Loki concluded, his tone forbearing but hard. It was just further proof of the lack of trust that the council was willing to award the king’s brother. Clearly, they had grown wiser in the years since Loki had dealt with their lethargic indecisiveness. Perhaps Thanos _had_ accomplished something to Asgard’s benefit– though it was a shame that it had taken the deaths of so many to achieve it.

“I am,” Fandral admitted. “The council are wary of you.”

“Rightly so,” Loki shrugged. “I mean them no harm today, however.”

“I believe that you feel the need to specify a timeframe is exactly _why_ they are being careful,” Fandral said. He cast a glance down the hallway before looking back to Loki, who still had not stepped out of his own doorway. “Surely the sorceresses would have something useful to say?”

“If they are Asgardian, it is unlikely,” Loki replied. Fandral winced, clearly recognising the truth. While Odin himself had been a formidable mage, Aesir seiðmenn were generally weaker than their Vanir, Elven, or even Jötunn counterparts, as Asgard preferred to fight with steel, and most seiðkonur were trained in healing, growing, and household spells rather than offensive or shielding magic. Loki had always been the exception, not the norm– and he wasn’t about to go and listen to the prattling of a few mages who thought they were better than him on the basis of their sex and his past actions. 

If some Vanir mages were present, such as Freyja, Loki might have bothered to go. But Fandral would have mentioned it were that the case, so there really was no purpose to head for the library.

Except, perhaps—

Loki raised his hand, palm up, and concentrated. Fandral looked a little worried, but bravely (trustingly?) stayed still while Loki retrieved a sugared bun from the kitchens. He smiled faintly at the thought of the cooks’ annoyance at disappearing food - something they no doubt hadn’t had to deal with in quite a fair while - but hid the expression as he took a bite.

“Come, then,” sighed Fandral, giving in. “Let us go and inspect the shields.”

Still a little sour about being assigned a watcher, Loki led the way through the halls and down to the main courtyard. There was an ancient tree there, planted millennia ago in homage to Yggdrasil. The tree was so old and had seen so much magic - and, incidentally, was so easily accessible from the palace - that it was the logical choice as an anchor for a shield designed to protect the whole of Asgard.

Loki had hardly entered the courtyard before he received confirmation that his assumption was correct. The courtyard was flooded with magic, the power bleeding from the tree and saturating the area. It was almost overwhelming but Loki pushed through, letting his own power leech from his hands as he examined the shield from afar.

It seemed strong, overly so– definitely stronger than the shields that had been destroyed during the attack from Malekith. But in order to be sure he would need physical contact. Just as Loki reached out, his StarkPhone began to vibrate, and Loki redirected his hand immediately, a smile already playing on his lips.

“What is that?” asked Fandral, moving closer, but Loki ignored him in favour of finding out what Anthony had sent him as soon as he could.

When he unlocked the device he was greeted by an image of a Midgardian council which, from the angle, had clearly been taken from under a table. As he watched, a message joined the photograph.

‘ _I hate this. Remind me why this is necessary?’_

No contact for over a day, and the first thing Anthony thought to send him was a simple complaint about human politics. Loki chuckled at the thought, and Fandral looked over curiously at the sound.

Loki tilted the screen away from his prying eyes as he tapped out his response.

_‘Because you agreed to sign their little treaty to appease their cowardly insecurities.’_

‘ _Right, that’s it,’_ Anthony sent back immediately. _‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’_

 _‘I still do not understand why Midgard insists upon breaking itself into factions,’_ Loki typed as he moved to sit on the wall surrounding the tree, still hunched over his StarkPhone. _‘One ruler is far more efficient.’_

_‘Oh, yeah? How’s that been working out for Thor, then?’_

_‘Thor is well, **’**_ Loki replied, smiling tightly. ‘ _He still fears his own incompetence, but he has grown much in recent years.’_

Perhaps a bit _too_ much, if Loki was being honest– while Thor’s newfound ability to think before acting was certainly an improvement, it also meant that he had begun to second guess himself, which was often more of a hinderance than a help. 

 _‘That almost sounded like a compliment,’_ Anthony responded.

Loki paused before answering, his thumbs hovering over the screen. He could simply wave it away with a joke as he was often wont to do, but he found that he didn’t really want to. He had grown accustomed to having someone to talk to, to unload his worries and be comforted. They may only be conversing through text messaging, but yet Loki found that he didn’t want to simply gloss over what he was going through.

Even if not for his own desires, he owed it to Anthony to be honest.

 _‘I have few friends, here,’_ he eventually admitted. _‘Being cordial to Thor is a concession I have been forced to make.’_

_‘Are they treating you all right?’_

Anthony’s concern bled through even the small messaging bubbles, and Loki sighed, thinking of the high council. The Asgardians hadn’t done anything obvious– Sif had been the most overtly hostile, and even she had not gone much further than the playground insults Loki had been dealing with all his life. But the reason for their longanimity was clear. They would not risk insulting him when they needed his help.

That, however, had not been enough to stop the council from refusing to allow him into their meeting that very morn.

‘ _Asgard welcomes me only when they are in need,’_ Loki told him, choosing his words carefully. _‘Her people are fickle creatures who know little of loyalty.’_

‘ _Things are going well, then?’_   Anthony asked, and Loki smiled with the knowledge of how deeply Anthony understood him.

‘ _Little better than they seem to be for you_.’

_‘It would be easier if you were here.’_

Yes, Loki thought. A lot of things would have been easier had Loki remained in Midgard, but recent events had unfortunately taught him that easy did not always amount to most successful. But as much as he wished to be honest he could think of no way to put his turbulent thoughts into words, not when they could not truly speak to one another. Sentiment could only go so far. So, instead—

_‘I would simply kill them all for you.’_

_‘Exactly.’_

Loki sighed. It was just another reminder of the fact that he couldn’t return, but he was glad that Anthony had sent the message. For it was also a reminder of why he had left, and the conversation left him feeling rejuvenated.

He felt the opposite, however, when Fandral sat down heavily beside Loki on the wall, his prosthetic leg stretched out straight in front of him.

“You were speaking with your human,” Fandral deduced. Loki merely shot him a glare and put away the phone before standing to place his hands on the tree, just wanting to get the work over and done with. “Loki?” Fandral prodded. “Come on, Loki, don’t ignore me. We’re stuck together for the rest of the day, and you know how curious I can be—“

“Yes, Fandral,” Loki snapped. “I was speaking with the human I have been staying with. Now, will you leave me to complete the task that we came for?”

“You truly care for him,” Fandral said, his voice surprised.

Loki, used to insinuations that he was carved from metal, merely continued on with his inspection of the shields. Odin, it seemed, had done an impressive job given the stresses of the moment. As Loki had thought at first, it was strong– but it was not as strong as it could be. Without the Space Stone, Loki could not add to many of the protections that Odin had cast, but he could certainly strengthen those that had been cast with the Mind Stone. Odin had hidden Asgard from being seen, but if one already knew where to look then the camouflage was useless. Instead, Loki focused on the power of misdirection. If anyone headed toward Asgard with the intention of harm, they would find themselves turning in the opposite direction, sure that there was nothing there, that they had already checked, or that they had something else that urgently needed to be attended to. (Admittedly, some of his protections were inspired by Midgardian literature, but that would not matter so long as they worked.)

He finished without further distraction, and he and Fandral were already heading back into the palace when his phone buzzed once again.

' _I hate politics.’_

It was so like Anthony to write such a thing, a simple statement that bled with surrender and dismissiveness while he no doubt meant the very opposite. Loki knew that his mortal would never be one to give up, and yet he almost always remained pessimistic– at least with regard to things that were not of particular importance. When stakes were high, nothing could deter Anthony Stark from the belief that he would achieve his goal.

Smiling fondly, Loki typed his response.

 _‘Politics has its uses, my dear. You just need to apply the correct pressure in exactly the right place_.’

It was a lesson that Loki had long ago learned, but one that he struggled to heed. Dealing with politicians took a lot of _patience_ , and patience was exhausting– but oh so worth it in the end.

“Seems to steal a lot of your attention, this Midgardian of yours.” It was clear that Fandral didn’t mean anything by it– his eyes were bright, and his smile was true. But Loki had long since had enough of judgement, and he was sick of the Aesir referring to Anthony as ‘his’, just because they saw humans as being less than them. It was the same way that they once referred to Jane Foster as Thor’s– they looked down upon her and Anthony both, and Loki was coming to see that _neither_ of them deserved it. While Loki still saw humans as inferior in their biology, he could no longer look at them with the disdain he once did, not when Anthony was one of them. Most were insignificant, most _were_ the ants he once named them, but there was the occasional diamond amongst the rabble which proved their potential.

“Leave it, Fandral,” Loki growled, clutching his phone tighter. He watched the small screen, sure that Anthony’s response would lighten his mood. But then—

‘ _You know what? I think I have an idea.’_

Loki closed his eyes and breathed deep, in through his nose and then out through his mouth in a long sigh as he made a mental note to keep the phone on hand.

—•—

Another day, another council meeting. Loki had been prepared for all of the meetings, and when he’d spoken to Anthony before, he hadn’t been _lying_ – but just because it had its uses didn’t mean that politics wasn’t overly dull. In the past, he had been impatient with the stupidity of it all, yet derisive of Thor’s own dismissal of the council meetings. Loki, at least, understood the importance of being able to please, to charm, to manipulate. By giving small power to the council Odin actually consolidated his own through an illusion of consultation, and therefore the handling of the council was of great importance. As with the rest of Asgard the group had shrunk since Thanos’ assault, but they still remained a considerable force of old, clever Aesir who could never get a single thing done.

Loki despised them, and not just for the insults they had dealt him as a young man in the world of his elders, as a second prince always in the shadow of his older brother who made far more acceptable choices– but also for their slowness and inability to see how little power they truly held. Perhaps they just enjoyed the lie too much to step out into the light– but that was no excuse to impede the progress of the rest of the city. For while they had never been able to overrule Odin, they had been able to delay him, as Loki had learned during his extended masquerade. Then again, maybe they had only been biding their time, waiting until they could get hold of more power. That’s what Loki would do, after all, and Thor… Thor had taken Midgardian ideals far too seriously and seemed to actually be taking their advice. The council, slow yet shrewd, had noticed, and were needling Thor to get their way. If Thor wasn’t careful– but no, Loki didn’t think Thor would ever become a puppet. He was clever, in his own way, and despite his current misgivings born of being thrust into a role he was far from ready for, he was too strong to come out of the other side anything less than who he had always been.

He had, at least, brought Sif and Fandral with him, neither of whom were stupid. And with Loki back by his side…

Loki paused at the thought, surprised by it. Not because he disputed it, but rather because he _didn’t_. He and Thor still had their differences, always would, but somewhere along the way of working with the Avengers Loki had been able to… if not forgive, then at least understand his brother’s past actions. He knew that his discussions with Anthony and the distance from the machinations of the Allfather had helped with that, but Loki also knew that he himself had grown. 

Yes, Loki would stand by his brother’s side, in more than just the fight against Thanos.

“The shields are strengthened,” Loki said, speaking to the gathering as a whole. He was standing from his chair and leaning forward, his hands splayed on the large, rectangular table. “Odin did a fair job given the circumstance, and I have added to their defences. Even if Thanos returns with his Infinity Stones, he will be hard pressed to get through.”

“You have only returned with one Stone, Loki,” said Tyr, the head of the Asgardian armed forces (which, in a way, was rather ironic considering the Aesir had only one arm left.) He had commanded the Einherjar for centuries, and while Loki had once respected the man’s bravery, he certainly had _not_ appreciated being hunted like a dog. “Why did you remove one of our greatest weapons against Thanos?”

“Because it _is_ truly unlikely that Thanos will return here,” Loki replied, keeping his expression neutral. “I admit that it is possible, but as soon as he learns that the Stones have been taken to another Realm—“

“You have not left the Tesseract on Midgard, surely,” one of the older Aesir gasped.

“Of course he has,” Sif muttered. “He has been staying there—“

“The Avengers are mighty warriors,” Thor argued. “They will ensure that the Space Stone remains protected.”

“We cannot trust them,” Tyr tried. “They are only mortals—“

“They defeated the Chitauri,” Loki said, his voice cutting despite the charming smile on his lips. “They have fended off the forces of Thanos once already, while fighting against the power of an Infinity Stone. Not including Thor and myself their team numbers eight– but one of them, alone, has managed to defeat the Einherjar multiple times. Is that not right, Tyr?” Loki asked sweetly.

Tyr glanced away.

“I heard they possess a dragon which spits white fire,” Fandral contributed, and the council began to titter with interest.

Loki’s gaze flitted to blonde warrior, and Fandral gave him a wink.

Sif, meanwhile, was rolling her eyes.

“The mortals are strong,” she said, “But they are still mortal. They could fail for many reasons unrelated to Thanos. They could—“

“We are wasting time,” Thor cut in. “Yes, they are mortal, and they are protecting the Space Stone. It is safer with them than it would be here, and they will use it to not only defend themselves, but to stop the Mad Titan from achieving his goal. Surely that is in all of our best interests?”

The council remained silent, and Loki smiled.

“Good, Thor finished. “Now, Loki. Will you tell us of the shields?’

“There is not much to add,” Loki shrugged. “They are stronger now, and they will hold for a long time. Asgard has time to recover.”

“If we ever will,” muttered Sif.

Loki was about to respond, but became distracted by a vibration in his pocket. It was not a good time for him to be speaking with Anthony, but he remembered the last message he had received and found that he was unwilling to ignore it. If Anthony was in a danger and Loki neglected to answer in favour of listening to the Asgardian council, he knew that he would never forgive himself.

‘ _Hey Loki? If I get arrested, you’ll break me out of prison, right?’_

Loki stared down at the screen as a shiver of ice ran through his veins. Such a message could be read as joking but Loki had spent far too long in Anthony’s company to know that his whims were very rarely just that, and more often than not cumulated into something far more dangerous. Anthony was too curious for his own good and far too reckless, and he had never been able to turn away from a confrontation.

Without offering an explanation, Loki pushed away from his chair and walked toward the wall, immediately tapping on his phone with frantic worry before holding it to his ear.

“JARVIS,” he hissed the moment the line connected. “What is he doing?”

“Mr Stark is busy at the moment,” said JARVIS after a concerning pause. “If I can take a message—“

“JARVIS!” Loki snapped. “You know that you’re not going to get that past me. Put him on.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Liesmith,” JARVIS said. “But Mr Stark has expressly stated that he does not wish to be contacted during this incursion.”

This incursion? _Incursion?_ By the Norns, if he was doing something stupid—

Well, that would be a pointless exercise in false hope. Of _course_ Anthony was doing something stupid.

“You can tell me where he is, though,” Loki guessed. “Besides, JARVIS, I was under the impression that I have just the same clearance as Anthony in regard to your protocols.”

“Yes,” JARVIS admitted, and he almost sounded _relieved_. “Mr Stark is currently in the UN Headquarters, attending a meeting with the Accords Council.”

Loki nearly jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder, but he smoothly connected the movement to a spin as he glared at Thor.

“Is he all right?” Thor asked.

“I believe so,” Loki replied. “JARVIS?”

“Yes,” JARVIS replied. “In fact, he is quite enjoying himself.”

“JARVIS…” Loki prompted when no further explanation was coming.

“He has… discovered how to create portals with the Space Stone," JARVIS started, and somehow, Loki found that he wasn't surprised.

What followed was a detailed but quick explanation of Anthony's attempt to bully the accords council into to understanding the gravity of the threat they were faced with. When JARVIS finished Loki locked eyes with Thor for a moment, before speaking sternly and leaving no room for argument.

“You will put me through immediately, JARVIS. If he has any complaints, he will answer to me.”

Thor, understanding, nodded slowly and moved away, walking back to the council. Loki could see that most of them were craning their heads in an attempt to listen, and he was grateful that Thor seemed to be trying to stop the eavesdropping. He didn’t want to leave the room entirely - he was sure that if he did, he would not be let back in - but he also could not afford to ignore this call.

“Yes, Mr Liesmith,” JARVIS said. “And… thank you.”

“My pleasure, JARVIS,” Loki replied, turning back towards the wall as the call finally connected all the way, and Anthony's voice filtered through the phone’s speaker.

“–distract him, JARVIS—“

“Anthony,” Loki said in mock annoyance, smiling in spite of himself. “I am almost beginning to believe that you do not wish to speak with me.”

“I can promise you that is not the case,” Anthony replied, his tone most certainly brighter than he had meant it to be. “However, right at this moment—“

“You’re too busy attacking mortals?” Loki asked, rolling his eyes even as his hand clasped the phone tightly. He had to force himself to relax his grip, worried that the device might break. “Yes, JARVIS gave me the update,” he said after he had calmed himself a little. “I am gone for only a few days and already you are trying to get yourself arrested. Is this a cry for attention?”

“Are you serious right now?” Anthony asked, affronted.

“Anthony, the sort of attention you’re going to get will not be the fun kind,” Loki snapped, his free had rubbing at his face. Behind him, the council were getting louder again, and he was all too aware that Thor’s attempts to calm them down were not working. “I gave you the stone to protect it and yourself, not to terrify the Accords Council.”

“You’re wound pretty tight,” Anthony replied. “Loki, what’s going on in Asgard?”

Loki sighed. Anthony was entirely too perceptive.

“I am fine,” Loki insisted. “But I won’t be if you get yourself killed before I am able to return.”

“Loki.” It was Fandral interrupting this time, and Loki turned with a glare and a cutting reply on the tip of his tongue. But Fandral’s interruption was a warning, and it was Sif who was stalking towards him.

“This is an insult,” she spat.

“You said we needed to find the Time Stone,” Anthony snapped in reply to Loki’s last comment, but Loki was no longer listening. He pushed his phone into his pocket, the call still connected, and turned to face Sif.

“This is important,” he said. “I am sorry if you are incapable of seeing past yourself, but in order to defeat the Mad Titan we must work with the Midgardians. Asgard needs them as surely as they need us."

“That didn’t sound like working with them,” Sif said. “You’re talking to _your_ mortal.”

“I’m talking to Anthony Stark, yes,” Loki snapped back. “Iron Man– one of the Avengers. He is integral to the protection of Midgard.”

“Loki speaks the truth,” said Thor.

“Whether it is the truth or not– we are discussing the protection of Asgard,” Sif said, raising her voice. “I understand that the Mad Titan may come for Midgard, but allow them to wait until we can defend our own, first.”

“We _are_ protected, were you not listening?” Loki replied. “I have altered the shields already, my work is complete. If Midgard needs me now—“

“Then go,” Sif snarled. “If Midgard is more important to you, then _why_ are you here?” Sif drew her sword and swung it. Loki flickered an inch to the right with hardly a thought, and the blade scratched along the golden wall to the left of his skull.

“Sif!” Thor shouted, storming forward, his hand stretched out at the ready. Mjölnir was not in the room, but the threat was clear. “Leave him be!”

“No, I will _not!_ ”

“Sif, I came here to help Asgard,” Loki said wearily. “Thor asked, and I am here, am I not? Now that the shields are fixed, I will go with Thor to Knowhere, and then I _will_ return to Midgard. You needn’t worry.”

Sif glared, but dared not do anything else with Thor standing so close. The Thunderer lay a hand on her shoulder and gave her a look that Loki could not see. She looked unhappy but cowed, and retreated back to her seat beside Fandral.

“Oh, and Sif?”

She turned with a scowl, and Loki smiled.

“You ever threaten me like that again, and you won’t have a hand to swing your sword with.”

She wasn’t unnerved, but Loki didn’t expect her to be. It didn’t matter, though– the warning had been issued. If she did something similar again, Loki could retaliate immediately with lowered consequence. 

When she had retaken her seat, Thor placed his hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Finish your discussion, brother,” said Thor, giving him a small smile. “I will speak with you on our next step afterward, and inform you of anything else that happens in this meeting.”

So, Loki was getting thrown out anyway. He refused to let them think it had ruffled him however, so he merely threw another carefully cultivated smile toward the table, before vanishing to his rooms. He was tempted to stay a little longer to listen in unseen– but he was well aware of the phone resting heavily in his pocket. Perhaps he could sort Anthony out, and then return.

“–was that?” Anthony was asking as Loki put the phone back to his ear. “Are you all right?”

“I must go,” Loki said, not wanting to get into detail but at the same time, not wanting to simply dismiss Anthony. So he added– “But please, promise me you’ll get yourself out of this.”

“Don’t I always?” Anthony asked, and Loki groaned.

“ _No_ ,” he complained. That was the problem. “You do not. And at the moment, you do not have me there to—“

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Anthony assured, the endearment doing little to soothe Loki’s worries. “What’ve a few politicians got on me?”

“You just attacked them,” Loki replied sharply. He could hear shouting in the background, and he knew that it was true. “They could arrest you.”

“That’s what I have you for.”

“Anthony—“

“I’ll be fine,” Anthony said. “Honestly, what’s the worst they can do to me for this?”

Loki groaned _again_. Of all the things that Anthony could have said, he _had_ to chose those exact words. Was he trying to tempt the Norns?

The shouting continued on the other end of the line, and Loki was about to once more demand that Anthony take better care when **—**

“Oh, and now there’s this guy,” Anthony muttered.

Loki couldn’t quite hear was happening through the phone - or more likely, he suspected, on the outside of Anthony’s helmet - but he _could_ hear Anthony’s side of the conversation, and as soon as he heard the word ‘kid’ Loki immediately pieced it together.

“Is that Peter?” Loki asked, though he didn’t need a confirmation. “Good. He can keep you in line.”

“I do not need a teenage babysitter!” Anthony immediately complained, and Loki could very clearly picture the pout that was no doubt pursing his lips.

“Do not worry, Mr Liesmith,” JARVIS reassured him. “The Avengers were alerted some time ago. They’re on their way.”

“Fantastic,” Anthony said, echoing Loki’s own thoughts. “Bruce will totally be on my side.”

 _And he will also keep you safe_ , Loki couldn’t help thinking. The peculiarity of his position hit Loki all of a sudden– he was not used to being so concerned about progressing mischief. Usually, he would be encouraging the initiation of chaos– but with Anthony so far away and out of his reach, Loki found that he was unable to see the funny side of it. When there was a possibility of Anthony being in danger…

"Well, good luck, Anthony,” Loki said, swallowing hard. “I hope you’re still alive when I make it back to Midgard. “

“Yeah, love you too,” Anthony said. The words were spoken casually, like they were the easiest truth in the world. Loki wanted to respond, but somehow… the words were caught in his throat. He didn’t want to say them when he couldn’t see Anthony’s face, when he didn’t know that he was safe and whole. So he held on for a moment, listening to Anthony’s soft breathing. That was a torture in and of itself, though, and it was only a few seconds before he pulled the phone from his ear and pressed his thumb to the red icon.

Anthony would be fine. He had Peter with him, and the Avengers were on their way– not to mention the fact that JARVIS would never allow harm to come to his creator if he could help it. He would be _fine_.

Loki, on the other hand, still had a council and an overly affectionate brother to deal with.

—•—

The council, unfortunately, were already dispersing when Loki reappeared (silent and invisible) inside the hall. Thor waited until they had all departed, then sighed heavily and looked to the back-left corner of the room.

“Okay, Loki,” he said. “You can come out, now.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Loki told him as he approached from the right, causing Thor to huff in annoyed amusement. “You’ll have to update me.”

“I just discussed my plans for Knowhere with them,” said Thor, rising to his feet. “Come. We will speak where we will not be disturbed.”

The desire for privacy piqued both Loki’s suspicion and curiosity, and Thor led the way to his own rooms. He asked about Anthony as they walked, and Loki updated him in general terms so as not to worry– Anthony was having a small dispute with the Accords Council, but the Avengers had it all under control.

The Accords Council, after all, were not the group that Loki was more concerned with.

“The council needs to be replenished,” Loki advised as Thor’s door closed behind them. “Even with this recent attack, they don’t see the urgency. Surely there are others who can join?” Others, Loki didn’t add, who would be more supportive of Thor and more willing to go along with their plans. “Freyja is surely well respected enough, especially now that she is the protector of the golden apples—“

“As much as she is our aunt, Freyja is still Vanir,” Thor said, shaking his head. “The older members will not allow for her to sit on Asgard’s council—“

“You are the king,” Loki interrupted contrarily. “You have the power, Thor, and do not allow them to entice you into forgetting it.”

“You always said how important their support is, Loki,” Thor said. He gave Loki a soft smile before walking further into his rooms, beginning to unlace his heavy armour. “I cannot afford to alienate them so early.”

“You already did that by coming to my defence,” Loki replied, rolling his eyes fondly nonetheless. He followed Thor and sat on his brother’s couch with a flourish.

Thor paused with a vambrace in his hands, a curious spark in his eyes. Loki found it curious, at any rate, because it was a strange look for Thor. He was... confused, yes, but also concerned, and yet sad all at once. They were emotions that Loki was used to seeing on his brother, but their combination was worrying.

“I will always defend you, brother,” said Thor. “If they think that I will do any different, then they have no place on Asgard.”

Feeling a little like something had crawled into his throat and died there, Loki looked away, preferring the sight of his own twisting fingers to Thor’s sincerity. The time when he could respond to Thor’s displays of affection with reciprocity had long since passed, yet his anger had cooled enough that he did not feel the urge to escape the situation by simply stabbing Thor in the gut. Well, not say that the idea hadn’t crossed his mind, but he had been working on his temper while living with humans. He’d been reliably informed that they didn’t bounce back quite as quickly as Aesir.

Thor didn’t speak again either, not until he sat heavily on the couch beside Loki, his armour removed and leaving him in soft fabric.

“This is what I wanted to speak to you about,” he said, causing Loki to look up.

“I thought we were going to talk about Knowhere,” Loki asked, his voice tense with caution.

“Yes,” said Thor. “I will be leaving for Knowhere tomorrow, as I told the council. But you will not.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You will not be leaving me behind,” he snapped. “Not after you dragged me all this way—“

“I would never dream of it,” said Thor. “But I have another task for you. You see, Asgard will need all of her allies in the time ahead, especially if we are to keep to Odin’s bargain with Tony Stark and aid Midgard in their fight. The Vanir have already agreed to give us their assistance, but the dwarves have fallen silent in recent months.”

“What,” Loki whispered. He almost couldn’t believe– surely Thor wasn’t asking for him to—

“You are to speak with the dwarves,” Thor confirmed, because oh, of _course_ Thor was once again asking him to make the ultimate sacrifice.

“You wish for me to go to Niðavellir?” Loki asked, his words little more than a snarl. He stood from the couch and turned away, his hands curled in tight fists by his sides. “You may as well wish for my death, Thor. They despise me.”

“They will not kill you—“ Thor began, but Loki laughed bitterly.

“No, Thor, you’re right, they won’t kill me. They didn’t in the past, after all– they were content with mere humiliation and torture—“

“You tried to steal from them,” Thor pointed out, though his voice betrayed his own disquiet with their actions.

“I was but a child,” Loki reminded him. “And they challenged me to a duel without explaining the proper rules.”

“You should have known better,” Thor said, and Loki was worried the old spat was about to be revisited when Thor raised his hand. “Enough. You know that I did not like what they did to you, that I pleaded with father for your sake—“

Loki snorted. “Oh, please. I know that you remained friends with Eitri long after the fact.”

“It was not Eitri who maimed you,” Thor replied, and Loki looked away, causing Thor to sigh heavily. “I need you to go to Niðavellir,” he said firmly. “Please, do not try to change my mind. You will not succeed.”

“Is that an order, my liege?” Loki asked, bowing his head while still staring up at his brother mockingly. “I suppose I have no choice, unless I wish to commit treason once again? Would you throw me in the dungeons for attempting to save my own skin?”

“I have no choice, Loki,” Thor pleaded. “I need to go to Knowhere as soon as possible—“

“So let me go with you,” Loki said. “That is why you dragged me away from Midgard, is it not?”

“Someone must see the dwarves, and find out what they know,” Thor said.

“So send Sif,” Loki replied sharply. “Why me?”

“You are needed,” Thor tried, but Loki shook his head.

“I will not put my head on the chopping block, Thor, not when it is unnecessary,” Loki spat.

“You _will_ go to Niðavellir!” Thor snapped, his temper finally breaking.

“The dwarves will welcome me with steel,” Loki snarled.

Thor rose from the couch as well and took a step forward, his eyes blazing as he shouted– “The dwarves will be less of a threat to you than Thanos!”

Loki stilled, his readied argument freezing solid in his throat. Thor’s blue eyes widened as he realised what he had said, but his expression remained determined, and Loki knew that he had spoken with true emotion.

“Thanos wishes to kill you,” Thor said, his voice softer, now. “I know it, because he taunted both father and I with descriptions of how he longed to tear you apart from the inside out.”

A violent shudder racked Loki’s spine, and he averted his eyes.

“I will not allow it, Loki,” Thor said, his large hand reaching up to run soothingly along Loki’s neck in a painfully familiar gesture that Loki hadn’t realised that he had missed. “Only moments ago I told you that I will always protect you, and I meant it. You will go to Niðavellir, and I will go to Knowhere. If Thanos is already there for the Aether, you will be far from him.”

“No,” said Loki, his denial softening just as Thor had. “I came here to help you, Thor. I will not allow you to face this alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Sif will be with me,” said Thor. “You will take Fandral.”

“I will _not_ ,” Loki snapped reflexively. “I would prefer to visit the dwarves alone.”

Thor spread his hands and shrugged, his lips twisting in amused smugness. Loki huffed, frustrated.

“I suppose that is your choice,” Thor said, and the fact that he was not arguing eased Loki’s mind a little– though he knew that Thor could be too trusting in such cases.

“Just because I’d rather go alone does not mean that I am happy to go at _all_ ,” Loki muttered.

“Loki,” Thor implored, wearing the pout that he always did when he smelt blood in the water of one of their arguments, his eyes wide and pleading and bright, bright blue. “Please. Asgard needs you.”

Rolling his eyes again with a long, drawn out groan, Loki flung himself back down on the couch with far less finesse than the first time, and threw back his head.

“Don’t worry, I will sanction your visit," Thor said hopefully, sitting back beside his brother. "They would not dare harm you.”

It was true that with the sanction of the king of Asgard, the dwarves would not dare physically harm Loki, not unless he were to attack them first. The most he could expect would be spiteful comments and unsubtle attempts to provoke him into acting up to give them the excuse– and honestly, Loki had more than enough experience dealing with similar behaviour.

He still wasn’t overjoyed with the whole arrangement, of course. The dwarves really _did_ hate him, and while he did think he was better off going alone, he knew that it wouldn’t be a pleasant endeavour. But Loki had tried hiding in the past. He had tried delaying things, tried sticking bandaids on bullet holes and burying his head in the sand. There was so much more at stake now, and he was no longer on his own– there were people counting on him, people that he cared about. The Avengers were relying on him to succeed, and so by extension, the fate of Midgard rested on Loki’s shoulders. It was a heavy burden, if only one that Loki cared for obliquely– and the only way that he could possibly shoulder it would be with a little less avoidance a lot more fortitude. It would be difficult, but– if he truly put his mind to it, Loki had yet to encounter a challenge that he could not overcome.

So it was that when he looked up to meet his brother’s gaze, his answer was certain.

“I will do it for _you_ , Thor,” Loki said, and despite his smile Thor sagged with unconcealed relief. “But know this– if you face Thanos and die, I swear to the Norns that I will storm Valhalla just for the pleasure of killing you again myself.”


	2. there is the world itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The battle is won or lost in the mind,” Loki continued, his grip on the box growing tighter. “The mind is the strongest weapon we own, the most powerful part of ourselves. It is the will to succeed that brings about victory above all else.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some pretty unhealthy responses to trauma in this chapter, from both Thor and Loki's side of things. Please don't consider either of them to be good role models.

There’s something to be said about fear. It’s one of the most important emotions in life, after all– it’s the inescapable feeling that keeps you alive, that forces you to stay on your toes and keep your questioning gaze on everything that could possibly hold the intention of harm. It is the breath that catches in your throat, the shiver of ice down your spine, the stab of unease in your gut that just tells you that something is wrong, that something is about to happen and that you need to get yourself to safety.

Loki had been afraid many times in his life, and he knew that it was in part the reason why he had managed to live so long, to survive all that he had. Yet despite his experience and respect for it, fear still drove him to paths that many others daren’t tread, still pushed him to his limits and forced him into a corner that seemed drenched in inescapable shadows. Recently, he had found a beacon of light in the darkness, something else that could guide his waking moments– but fear was still a driving force in his life, and it certainly still haunted his nightmares.

And it was in moments like these that he felt its touch most keenly.

There was something holding him down, pressing hard against his shoulders with enough strength to hurt. He yelled and thrashed and _screamed_ , but no one came to help, nothing could lift the crushing weight against his shoulders and chest. Someone was crying, but they were doing so silently– he wasn’t sure how he knew that someone had tears on their cheeks, but he was certain that they were powerless to help him.

Then deadly points were breaking his skin, tearing at soft tissue and drawing hot sprays of crimson as they wreaked unyielding revenge upon that which had purportedly cheated them. The thread felt like a trail of fire as it pulled through the wounds and screams turned to wails, to sobs, to desperate _begging_. The sounds soon cut out, though, reduced to gurgled mumbles that could not pass his torn lips. The blood pooled upon his tongue, the tangy metallic taste of it threatening to bring vomit up his throat, but he had to force it all down, knowing that to retch would only result in choking.

It hadn’t lasted long. The pain itself was excruciating, but not… not _overwhelming_. What was utterly worse was the gradual ebb he could feel deep in his body, all the way down to his bones. It didn’t feel like anything was leaving him but he could tell that his power was locked _,_ and that was something he had never agreed to. He couldn’t… he couldn’t _use_ it. His magic was there, bubbling under the surface, but it was caught in a net and it was raging to become free, burning and surging and _howling_. But it was all inside his head, now, his mind full of harrowing screams that couldn’t break free while his chest heaved with incomplete breaths that should have been exhaled through the mouth, but that was now made impossible.

As if it were a purposeful attempt to rub salt into his already burning wounds, Loki had not lost just his ability to manipulate seiðr, but also his speech. His most powerful weapon had not just been dulled but broken and utterly annihilated, torn from his fingers with the force of a sharpened needle and a single leather thread. He hadn’t only lost his magic– his very words had been ripped away.

The next scream was loud enough that Loki flew out of his bed, his chest heaving and his eyes blown wide. He forced himself to calm, his fingers pressing hard against his smooth and undamaged lips in a desperate search for peace. He forced himself to take deeper breaths, in through his nose, out through his _mouth,_ until the rate of his breathing steadied. As he relaxed, Loki grasped onto one thought that he knew to be true, something he knew that would help.  

The dream was _wrong_.

He remembered that day vividly– he remembered walking into the hall under his own power, head held high, _proud_ of the consequence he had contrived in substitution of something worse. He had kneeled of his own volition, and he had not fought as they pushed him to the ground. He had not even flinched as he felt his magic become tethered, refusing to give his torturer the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. He merely glared, using what magic he _could_ reach to brighten his eyes so they glowed a transcendent green, causing Brokkr to slip and snag and cause more pain in his own discomfort– but to Loki, the dwarf’s own fear had been worth it.

Thor had held Loki down out of pity, or so he had said– not wanting Loki to hurt himself in the struggle, knowing the dwarves would never be as gentle as he. Thor had always been stronger than Loki, always bigger– and at the ages they had been, Thor was larger by a further margin than at any other point in their lives. In his attempt to prevent further injury - perhaps in his shock and horror at the sight before him - Thor had held too hard, leaving bruises on Loki’s shoulders that had lasted almost as long as the stitches themselves.

Three days. Brokkr and Eitri had remained in Asgard for _three days._

Frigga, who had stood silently beside Odin for the proceedings but had been unable to stop it despite her earlier protests, had removed the cruel fastenings as soon as her husband had allowed it. Her tears, it was said, had been enough to move the entire court and all living things beyond to weep as well, but none of that sympathy had been for _Loki_. After the whole ordeal, Frigga was comforted by the other ladies of the court, praised for her stoicism in the face of her son’s pain. Thor had been equally lauded for courage, for _kindness_. Loki, meanwhile…

Well. He received many a suggestion that he learn not to cheat upon a wager, that he learn to gamble on something less precarious than his own head. It was, after all, his own fault.

It was so long ago, now. So long. The scars had faded along with the panic he used to feel at the mention of dwarves or the sight of _that_ spot before the throne in the main hall. The memory became less of a torment and more of a learning experience, a mere stop on the journey to becoming strong. It hadn’t been a consequence– it had been a _trial._

It had not taken long for Loki to learn the benefits of what had happened. Almost immediately after the fact, Odin had taken it upon himself to educate his recalcitrant son– for having his lips sewn shut, after all, was nothing compared to having an eye carved out by the frozen claws of a Frost Giant. Those had not been the Allfather’s _exact_ words, of course. Odin had far more tact and political suave than that, but the idea had been implied, especially when he had mentioned looking for the positives in the experience. Odin had lost an eye in that battle, but without the injury, perhaps he never would have gained his second son. (In more recent years, of course, Loki had wondered whether Odin had thought of a different positive result of that battle, for surely his acquisition of Loki was not enough to justify the torment when Loki himself caused more pain than a simple lost eye.)

To Loki, the lesson itself was enough of a reward for the suffering. He had gained invaluable knowledge out of the ordeal– it had helped to shape the man he became. He took on the advice of never placing himself in such harms way again, and learned that in order to get what he wanted, he needed to devise his schemes in such a way that the crimes could never be pinned upon _him._ All things considered, Loki owed Brokkr a debt. Without the lesson he had learned as a young boy stupid enough to bluff a wager upon his head that relied on the skills of another and then arrogant enough to follow through with it, he would have perished many a time over the past few years alone.

The incident had been a _blessing._

But… no amount of rationalisation could ever be enough to stop the nightmares, and even now, even with far worse demons to torment him in his dreams, he woke up screaming with the ghostly feeling of being unable to speak, unable to smile or even breathe without pain.

And now, Thor was sending Loki to Niðavellir, the very place where his torment had begun.

—•—

Loki rose early once again in what had become his habit since arriving in Asgard days earlier, once more also ignoring the summons to breakfast and stealing himself some food to prepare for his journey.

It was a daunting task, to pack for a trip to the place that literally haunted his nightmares. But Loki had agreed to go, and despite his misgivings, he would not present Thor with further proof of Loki’s cowardice. Not now.

He didn’t have much to bring, anyway. He had not brought anything with him from Midgard save for that which he wore on his back and carried with him in his pocket dimensions, and those he had already added to during his catalogue of the belongings left in his rooms. He did a final scan of the place with his eyes, not knowing if he would return. Then, nodding firmly to himself, he turned to leave his quarters just as he felt his phone vibrate.

Despite the imminent ordeal, he couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his lips as he read about Anthony’s mishap with a portal. It shouldn’t have amused him so, since the Space Stone was a dangerous and volatile artefact, but he could picture Anthony’s disgruntled and irritated disappointment rather clearly, and he knew exactly that the failure would only spur him to try harder. He only needed a little coaching.

‘ _It’s all about intent,’_  Loki typed, his smile still in place as he recounted one of the earlier lessons he had been taught by his mother. ‘ _You need to picture where you want to go in your mind’s eye and then will the Stone to take you there.’_

 _‘I did that, and yet it still landed me in a farm when I asked for pizza,’_ Anthony replied, and Loki snorted, already believing that he knew the exact crux of the problem.

‘ _What were you thinking about?’_

_‘When?'_

_‘When you told it to take you to the pizza. Did you have a specific place in mind?’_

_‘I wanted to go to Chicago. I was craving some deep dish, a meat lovers, covered in meatballs and greasy, greasy cheese.’_

The laughter that burst from Loki upon reading _that_ message was loud and true. He had been more right than he could have imagined, and– well. The image of a petulant Tony Stark sitting in a muddy field surrounded by curious farm animals was just too _good_.

When Loki had calmed enough to structure a response, he typed– ‘ _Were there animals on this farm, per chance?’_  

‘ _A few cows.’_  There was a pause, and then– ‘ _Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’_

 _‘_ _Your desire for meat was greater than your will to move to a specific place,’_  Loki replied, unable to keep from rolling his eyes. ‘ _So the Space Stone took you to the meat that you desired.’_

Honestly, he should have expected that this would be the case when he gave Anthony the Stone. His mind was bright and full of ideas, constantly whirring and thinking– but while his genius was usually an asset, it meant that he found it difficult to hone in on a single thought with the focus required to form a portal.

 _‘Surely there’s a cow closer to Manhattan than fucking Minnesota,’_  Anthony responded, causing Loki to break into chuckles once again.

‘ _Are you really trying to apply the concept of distance to the Space Stone?’_ Loki raised an incredulous eyebrow at the screen. _‘It_ is _Space– for the Stone, you are currently equally far from your workshop as you are to the other side of the galaxy.’_

_‘You’re talking as though it’s sentient.’_

‘ _It isn’t, not really,  but it’s powerful enough that it can respond to such things _,’__ Loki replied, thinking over his own experience with the Tesseract, his previously amused expression falling into a frown. The cube had contained such power that was straining to break free, just waiting to be given a target. If it hadn’t been able to tap into the desires of its wielder, if had hadn’t known exactly what Loki had wanted it to do… _‘_ _If it couldn’t, it would be uncontrollable.’_

_‘It already is.’_

The frown cutting across Loki’s brow deepened, partly due to worry about what might have happened for Anthony to say so, and half concerned that if he did consider it uncontrollable, that he might give up attempting to master it. Luckily, Loki had long since mastered dealing with Anthony’s moods.

‘ _Are you giving up, then?’_ he taunted, and he didn’t have to wait long for the inevitable denial.

‘ _All right,’_ Anthony sent back. _‘I’ll try.’_

 _‘Good luck,’_ Loki sent, genuinely glad. But—

 _You’re going to need it_ _,_ Loki thought. They were both going to need it.

 _‘Thanks,’_ Anthony said. Then, as if he could read Loki’s thoughts– _‘And hey, enough about my problems. How’s Asgard? Have you put them all in their place yet?’_

Trust Anthony to manage to catch on to the very thing Loki had been hoping to avoid. Good mood evaporating, Loki stared at the screen, his usual skill with words seeming to falter.

Anthony had asked, not that long ago, about a few certain myths that the humans had contrived from centuries-old tales of Agsardians. He had refused to allow Loki to see them himself, though Loki had gained the impression that they were fairly gruesome and did not portray the god of lies in a very positive light. Anthony’s reaction back in the Asgardian dungeon when he had learned the truth of Loki’s punishment for his juvenile flyting had been enough proof of that. But… Anthony, ever curious, had wanted to know about the _wager_ , and Loki had been unable to lie.

He was no good at lying to Anthony, never had been, and now had even less of a desire to do so than he ever had before. But he knew that if Anthony were to learn of his intentions, if he knew the truth of where Thor was sending him—

But Anthony had not asked about where he was going, he had asked only about Asgard. Loki didn’t have to say a thing about where he was headed, he could withhold the fact that he was visiting Niðavellir, and it still would not be a lie.

‘ _I am leaving Asgard tonight,’_ Loki sent. ‘ _I will not have to put up with them for much longer.’_

His pride in his own cleverness lasted only until he read the next message.

‘ _You’re off to get the Aether, then?’_

Oh, by the Norns. Anthony was too curious by far, but yet still he had not asked for a location.

‘ _Thor has decided that now is the right time.’_ Thor was to go after Aether, after all. It still was not a lie.

There was a pause of a few moments where Loki worried that Anthony would further his questioning, but then—

‘ _Good luck yourself, then._ _Tell me when you get back safe.’_

‘ _Of course,’_ Loki replied. ‘ _You’ll be the first to know of my return to this dreary place. There is no need to worry, I have been told that the trip will be uneventful.’_

It still was not a lie.

—•—

The Bifröst felt rather crowded, even though there were less people there than most times Loki had frequented the place. There were no Einherjar, no horses, and no send off party. When Loki stepped out of his quarters and landed on the end of the bridge, there were only four others present, yet it felt like an army just waiting to leap into battle, clamouring for action. Had Loki known that this was what was awaiting him, he might have simply sky walked to Niðavellir, protocol be damned.

(Except that, no, he would not have. Loki may be willing to ignore courtesy when the situation called for it, but he is not _stupid_.)

“Are you ready, Loki?” Thor asked as Loki approached, Mjölnir spinning in his hands though from excitement or nervousness, Loki was not entirely sure.

Thor was clearly expecting a response, but Loki had more important things to worry about than his own emotional preparedness.

“No,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in the direction of the one-legged warrior conversing with Heimdall. “I am _not_ taking Fandral.”

“Loki,” Thor groaned. “You cannot go alone—“

“Why not?” Loki asked. “If I am to be as safe in the home of the dwarves as you say—“

“You will be—“

“Then why must I bring a warrior?” Loki observed Thor’s indignant reaction with scrutiny, watching as he frowned in annoyance.

“He’s not just going for protection,” Thor said. “He’s going as my agent, to speak for me. He will make sure the dwarves understand that you are acting in my stead—“

“Oh, so they _may_ wish to harm me?” Loki asked. “So you’re saying there _is_ a danger?”

“No,” Thor groaned. “I am only being overcautious. Just in case—“

“Just in case what?” Loki narrowed his eyes. “Just in case this trip will be _difficult_ for me? Just in case I will suffer some torment?”

“Please, Loki,” Thor said. “You have already agreed to this.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, not wanting to go into it too deeply. “I have. Grudgingly, true, but I have, and my own threat stands.”

Despite Thor’s obvious intention to continue the conversation, Loki stepped around him and turned to Sif, who was watching on with clear distaste.

“You need to make sure this oaf doesn’t do anything stupid,” Loki said to her. _Keep him safe._

Sif nodded tersely. “Of course,” she said. “It’s nothing that I haven’t done before.”

Her words held bite but Loki knew she spoke true, and it was a battle that he had neither the time nor energy to sacrifice for. Instead, he moved past her as well and came to Fandral.

“You’re not coming with me,” Loki ordered.

“Yes, he is,” said Heimdall, speaking over Fandral’s complaint. “After all, I am the one who decides who travels the Bifröst and who does not.”

It wasn’t an entirely compelling argument, but Loki found it difficult to counter.

“How do you know where to send us?” Loki asked instead, probably being intrusive but considering it was his own wellbeing on the line… “If you can’t see, how do you know where the bridge will connect?”

“I have been directing the Bifröst since before you were born, Liesmith,” said Heimdall. “I know every position, I remember every strategic landing site in each of the Nine that I have used in the past. Fear not, I will get you to Niðavellir. I cannot see, but I can direct. How do you think I retrieved you from Midgard?”

“Pre-arranged retrieval locations,” Loki muttered thoughtfully. “But– Thor summoned you.”

“I said that I cannot _see_ ,” Heimdall replied. “I never said that Thanos took my ability to hear those who call out for me.”

Loki, of course, was aware of the fact that the Bifröst channelled requests to be retrieved on its own, but he was also aware of the fact that Heimdall’s sight and hearing were linked. If the Watcher had lost his ability to see but _not_ to hear…

Perhaps the loss was not so great as what Loki had originally feared.

“Do I not get a say in whether I go to Niðavellir?” Fandral asked cheerfully.

“No,” said Thor, clapping him on the shoulders and almost sending him tumbling over his new leg. “You do not.”

Fandral laughed, and the scene was so achingly familiar that Loki found he had to look away. In doing so he noticed that Sif was watching him again, her broken nose and severely shorn hair somehow giving her the look of a raptor staring down its prey, just beginning to circle from above.

No doubt she believed that she should be in Loki’s place– and, well, she probably wasn’t wrong.

“You are injured,” Loki said to Fandral when his laughter quieted. “Maybe it would be better if you—“

“No.” Fandral’s usually mirthful eyes became serious, and there was… something in the pinch to his lips that made Loki want to shift in discomfort. “You’re not going alone, Loki. Not _there_.”

“Why is there any different to anywhere else?” Loki muttered, and Fandral’s expression became haunted.

“You know why.”

It wasn’t often that Loki couldn’t hold Fandral’s gaze– he had always seemed the kinder of Thor’s four friends. He wasn’t _soft_ , not really, but he had never been as hostile or as dismissive as the others. But now… Loki found himself turning away, unable to keep that look of sincere concern - not pity, not that, but honest _concern_ \- in his line of sight.

Damn Thor, damn the dwarves, and damn Niðavellir. Loki had put all of this pain behind him a long time ago, he had _learned_ to see the benefit of the ordeal, he didn’t need to revisit the trauma.

 _Trauma_. Ha. Loki liked to believe that he knew himself better than that.

He didn’t need a protector, and he certainly didn’t need a _friend_ to come and hold his hand. He was perfectly capable of dealing with anything the dwarves could throw at him, as he had already proven.

Besides, what he had said was not incorrect– Fandral was injured, and while his recovery was well on the road to completion he was not yet fully healed. From the outside, it may appear to be odd, or even irresponsible to send Fandral and Sif on such an important mission in their state. Loki, of course, knew that it had become habit for Thor to rely on his friends– as crown prince he had always held the ability to order the Einherjar but they were never truly under his control, and on small trips with high risk and no permission, Thor had always only trusted to bring his closest friends. That the group had now been halved made no difference in the way that Thor saw them, and while even despite their injuries Loki had little doubt of Sif and Fandral’s ability, he still believed it would have been wiser for Thor to bring more of a force.

Then again, the Einherjar had failed against Thanos before. Perhaps it _was_ prudent to attempt a new approach– though he doubted that Fandral would be able to make much of a difference if Thor did come upon the Mad Titan in Knowhere.

“You know what?” Loki said. “Fine. _Come_. But if you get injured, I will not be waiting for you nor feeling any guilt.”

“I would never have expected anything different,” Fandral replied.

“Now, you must be careful,” Heimdall told them. “As you know, I cannot see the situation into which I am sending you. We have not heard from the dwarves in months– make sure that your wits are about you when you land, for you could be walking into anything.”

“Good luck,” said Thor, and Loki decided that those words were far more palatable when read on the screen of a StarkPhone. “We’ll see you back at home when you’re done.”

Loki snorted derisively as he turned away from Thor. He couldn't quite define what Asgard was to him, but he knew that  _home_ most certainly wasn't it. 

—•—

When the light of the Bifröst faded, they were plunged into darkness. That in itself was enough to put Loki on guard– he had only visited Niðavellir once, the but he knew enough about the place to understand that it was eternally lit by the neutron star at its centre which powered all the dwarven forges. It would appear that eternity was not as long as it was once believed to be, for the great Star of Niðavellir sat dark and cold, incapable of forging a single thing.

“There’s something wrong,” said Fandral, and Loki rolled his eyes.

 _No shit_ , he thought, and somehow, his mind provided the words in a perfect rendition of Anthony’s voice.

“There is a possibility that we are too late,” Loki said instead. “Keep an eye out.”

“Obviously,” said Fandral.

Well, at least it was now obvious as to which one of them had the more advanced brain-to-mouth filter, though that, of course, had been clear already.

They had both brought weapons with them, unwilling to risk travelling unarmed when Thanos was wandering the universe, but they were equally wary of drawing them lest they insult the dwarves. But, as Fandral had said, there was quite clearly something very, very wrong, and they were also unwilling to be unprepared.

Loki was sure that Thanos was not nearby, for if he were, he would have already announced his presence, but it was possible that the Black Order, that the children of Thanos had remained to scavenge for anything else of use. Although, the burns on the walls were cool to the touch, and there was dust on the top of several overturned tables.

This destruction was not recent.

They moved through the carnage slowly, searching for signs of life. They didn’t call out, but quietly combed the wreckage, moving between the damaged forges and broken homes and finding nothing but ash and despair.

As they walked, Loki couldn’t help the thoughts that ran through his mind, the cruel wonderings of whether or not there were even any dwarves left, whether he could escape needing to face one of them after all—

The sound of metal crashing to the ground reverberated from somewhere to the right and Fandral drew his sword, spinning to face the noise as he did so. But the noise was very loud in comparison to the dead silence that had reigned beforehand– almost too loud to have occurred accidentally, and those who lived in this Realm were known for their cleverness.

So Loki turned left, daggers in hand, just in time to see a huge figure come storming from the shadows.

“Fandral!” Loki called sharply. Not bothering to pause and see whether his warning was heeded he simply ducked around a burnt metal column, spinning around it to get to their assailant’s other side. He threw out his right hand with no intention of releasing or slicing with the blade, instead simply sending out a blast of bright green magic to knock the hostile down.

The dwarf fell with a groan, all twelve feet of muscle, sinew, and beard hitting the ground with a _thud._

“I thought dwarves were our allies,” said Fandral, coming around the side of the column to stand on Loki’s right.

“So did I,” groaned the dwarf, pulling himself into a seated position, his brows furrowed in anger as he looked over them both. Dirty and unkempt, his face was near unrecognisable, yet it was still a face that Loki knew he would never forget.

“Eitri,” he said.

“Loki,” Eitri replied gruffly. “I never thought I would have the misfortune of seeing you again.”

“In that, we appear to be in agreement,” Loki said lowly. “Come now, Eitri. Is that the way dwarves greet a member of the Asgardian royal family these days?”

“It is how I do it,” Eitri replied, his voice almost weary, now. “And since I am the only dwarf left, I would say that the answer to your question is _yes_.”

Loki’s eyes widened as he immediately cast his gaze back around the ruins of the once proud workshops of Niðavellir, re-evaluating. He had been right in his earlier thoughts, he was sure of it. This destruction was old, and that most certainly did not bode well.

“This was Thanos, wasn’t it?” He asked, restating his earlier conclusion.

“If you know to ask, then you already know the answer,” Eitri replied.

“What happened?” asked Fandral, sheathing his sword and stepping forward. “Will you tell us?”

“No.” Eitri pulled himself to his feet, and as he did so Loki caught a flash of something metallic by the dwarf’s wrists, but then he had turned away.

“King Eitri, we can help you,” Fandral started, but got no further.

“No one can help me,” Eitri snapped, turning back but keeping his hands behind him. “I don’t _want_ any help, and even if I did, I most certainly would not accept it from Loki _Liesmith_.”

Fandral huffed in annoyance and looked about to retort, but Loki silenced him with a flick of his hand and a small spell. Fandral glared and mouthed inaudibly but Loki took no notice, striding forward to stand before the towering dwarf.

It was funny– standing in front of Eitri, Loki felt almost nothing. No pity, no sympathy, no anger, no pain. He felt… empty. Then again, Eitri had not been the one to make the wager, to sew Loki’s lips closed– he had simply been the unwitting accomplice, the craftsman determined to do his best work. That, of course, had never been enough for Loki to forgive him for his part in the incident, but it would appear enough of a difference to allow him to keep his head. Maybe he would have felt different had it been Eitri’s younger brother Brokkr standing before him, but if Eitri were truly the only dwarf left…

Loki swallowed hard, composing himself. It would not do to show Eitri how he felt at _that_ particular realisation.

“This is bigger than something that happened between us centuries ago,” he said, causing Eitri to pause. “This bigger than all of us.”

“I’ll admit that isn’t something I expected to hear from _you_ , Liesmith,” said Eitri.

“Yet, it is true,” Loki replied. “You know that– with all that you have clearly suffered, how could you not? And trust me, it is as strange for me to say as it is for you to hear me say it– but we need to be able to stand together.”

“Stand together?” Eitri asked. “Is that so?"

“Asgard and Niðavellir have always been allies,” Loki said stiffly. “Even a feud between princes failed to change that. You have sworn to help the Eternal City should it have need—“

“Asgard was supposed to help _us_ ,” Eitri shouted. “Was that you, god of mischief? Did you convince them with your pretty words to leave us to perish—“

“He did not,” Fandral broke in. “Loki has been on Midgard for years. Asgard could not help you because we were attacked as well, twice, in fact—“

“Oh, were you?’ Eitri asked. “And yet, here you are, _both_ of you still standing. How fare your people, Asgardian?”

“Many are dead,” Fandral replied. “Much of Asgard has been destroyed. Thor is the king now, and he has sent us to ask if you remain our allies, and if the dwarves will stand by us when—“

“The dwarves?” Eitri laughed brokenly, the sound bitter and guttural as it escaped past his lips. “Yes, I suppose the _dwarves_ will stand by you. I don’t suppose I have anything else to lose.”

Fandral appeared a little taken aback. “Well,” he said, “that’s what we came for, I suppose—“

Loki stopped him with a look. “Tell us what happened, tell us what Asgard failed to defend you from,” he said to Eitri. “Tell us. What did Thanos do?”

Eitri looked away, his head tilting up to the darkened roof. He stumbled as he did so, but managed to keep his feet, as if the weight of all that had happened was too much to bear yet too significant to simply give in to.

“Three hundred dwarves lived on this ring,” said Eitri, his voice low and pained. “Three hundred. I thought that maybe, if I did as he asked, he would let them live.”

“But you were wrong,” Loki concluded.

Eitri looked back to catch Loki’s gaze, his eyes haunted as he continued. “I made him his gauntlet,” he said. “I made him the weapon that can harness the power of all six Infinity Stones at once, and to thank me, he took everything that I loved. My brother, my people, my home– and my craft.” Eitri’s expression darkened further. “In payment for your work, your life is yours, he told me. But your hands… your hands are mine alone.”

It wasn’t entirely surprising– Thanos was an arrogant brute who wished to keep the best for himself. The possibility of needing Eitri’s skills at a later date likely would not have even occurred to him. The Mad Titan lived in the now to the detriment of future plans– it was how Loki had deceived him once before, and how he hoped to do so again.

To exploit Thanos’ arrogance, Loki knew, would be the only way to bring about his end.

But in this case, it would seem, Thanos had achieved his goal. Burns could be incredibly painful and unbelievably damaging, and Eitri’s hands had been encased in melted metal. The metal used by the dwarves, and that which Loki recognised over Eitri’s damaged hands, was Uru– the strongest, most versatile metal in the universe. To remove it at all would be near impossible, and do so without damage would take a miracle.

It would take more than just magic– it would take one of the most powerful artefacts in the universe.

And Loki just happened to have an Infinity Stone hidden up his metaphorical sleeve.

This… was not a situation that Loki had ever envisioned finding himself in, and as much as he wished to enjoy seeing Eitri with his famed hands - the hands that Loki had once terrorised in the guise of a horsefly, the hands that had won the _wager_ \- encased in Uru, he knew that those hands would be far more useful to him whole and healed.

And as much as it pained him, Loki knew exactly what he needed to do.

“I think…” Loki said, lifting his gaze to meet Eitri’s, “that maybe we could help each other.”

“I told you that I will not accept help from you,” Eitri replied, his eyes blazing.

“Not help, then,” Loki said, forcing his lips to curl into a smirk despite the frantic beating of his heart at the words he was about to speak. “How would you feel about a wager?”

Fandral didn’t quite squeak thanks to the silencing spell, but his expression and the way that he flinched made it quite clear that he would have.

“You’re not joking,” Eitri said, his own voice only half way between a sarcastic laugh and incredulity. “You _have_ to be joking.”

“If I lose, I’ll grant you one request. Whether that be that we leave and never come back, or whether I need to convince Thor to let you live in Asgard– whatever you ask for, you’ll have it.” Loki frowned. “I will not promise you my head though, nor my _neck_. I shall not take a life for you, my own or not.”

At that, Eitri nodded haltingly, as if he was slowly starting to believe that yes, Loki was truly serious.

“And if you win?” he asked. “I’ll not be promising you my head, either.”

Loki smiled. “I’m going to need you to make me something.”

Eitri’s expression hardened as he raised his heavy hands once again. “Impossible,” he said. “Without my hands, I can do nothing.“

“Well now, that just makes it more interesting, don’t you think?” Loki asked. “Because I was going to wager that I can _fix_ your hands.”

Eitri shook his head, though there was a spark in his eye that had certainly not been there before. “Even if you fix my hands, I cannot do anything without the star,” he said, gesturing out to the centre of the Realm. “Without the forge, I cannot melt any metal, and so cannot create.”

“I’m sure that after fixing your hands, relighting the forge will be a walk in the park,” Loki replied with a shrug, hoping that the words were true but instilling them with enough confidence as to be believable. Fandral, at least, was starting to look more on board with the plan, so taking a risk Loki freed him from the spell.

“All right then,” said Eitri. “I will take you up on your wager. I have little to lose.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Fandral.

Loki merely nodded. He just hoped that his own considerations had been correct.

Fandral shifted closer to Loki, his expression worried. “Thor is not going to like this,” he muttered.

Loki sighed heavily. “Can I tell you something?” he asked. “And please listen, because this is important, and it honestly might be quite useful for you to know one day.” Loki waited for Fandral to nod seriously, for his eyes to be properly focused before he calmly said– “I _really_ couldn’t care less about what Thor thinks.”

Instead of looking confused, affronted, or maybe shocked like Loki had expected, Fandral snorted. “Sure, Loki,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

Rolling his eyes, Loki moved away from Fandral to face Eitri, who sat down on a melted hunk of metal so that his hands were more accessible for those of a shorter height. Loki pretended to examine them, but really, he was once more going over the finer details of his plan.

It was obvious, of course, that he’d need an Infinity Stone, for healing was not easy and Eitri’s hands were truly damaged beyond repair. The Time Stone would have done it in moments, of course, and the Power Stone would have been enough of a boost to Loki’s own seiðr that he could have simply done it all himself. But of the six, the Stone in Loki’s possession was that with power over the Mind, which could not be of direct aid.

That was fine, though.

After all, doing things directly had never really been Loki’s style.

“I was never any good at healing,” Loki told Eitri, studying the molten and solidified Uru with care.

“That’s not instilling me with confidence,” Eitri muttered.

“My mother tried to teach me, and then so did the palace healers,” Loki continued. “I studied on Vanaheim, on Alfheim. Healing was always difficult for me, and I decided that I would focus more upon battle magic, spells that would mean I did not _need_ to be good at healing. I can still heal some wounds– not as neatly or painlessly as others, but I _can_ do it. But something like this… this is beyond my own capabilities.”

“So you’ve already lost?” Eitri asked. “You’re giving up, just like that?”

“No, he’s not finished,” Fandral said quietly. “Just wait.”

“The Midgardians have a saying,” Loki continued. “ _Mind over matter_. They use it a lot– in particular, they use it to focus their willpower to complete something seemingly impossible.”

Eitri frowned, confused, but Loki took no heed. He simply twisted a hand into nothing and pulled a gold-titanium box from a pocket dimension. Carefully, holding it with both hands, he opened the box to reveal the treasure within.

“Oh, you’re not going to—“ Fandral started, but Eitri cut him off.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“Most likely,” said Loki. “This is the Mind Stone.”

“The Mind Stone doesn’t heal, though,” Eitri said, deflating a little. “It’s powerful, but that’s not—”

“Mind over matter,” Loki repeated, looking down at the box, almost hypnotised by the yellow glow. “I told you, it’s something that I learned while living with the humans– some can be endlessly optimistic, a certain captain and a particular arachnid among them. And I don’t think they’re wrong.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but they didn’t need to know that.

“The battle is won or lost in the mind,” Loki continued, his grip on the box growing tighter. “The mind is the strongest weapon we own, the most powerful part of ourselves. It is the  _will_ to succeed that brings about victory above all else.”

“Well, that’s not true,” said Eitri, and Fandral nodded in agreement. “I promise you, we definitely wanted to defeat Thanos. My people, my _family_ fought with more will than they ever had before—“

“It doesn’t solve the impossible,” Loki interrupted. “But you _can_ make the highly improbable more possible to reach.”

Loki didn’t truly believe it– ever since he’d suffered at the hands of the dwarves he had tried to keep a track on his own limits, making sure that he didn’t get into a situation he couldn’t pull himself out of. He’d made the mistake of doing so again when he had taken the throne of Asgard, and, well, fool me thrice—

The fact remained that there were so many humans who advocated the power of will - even humans that Loki had grown to respect - that they simply could not _all_ be wrong, surely. Perhaps there was something in the idea, but Loki could not truly believe it himself, not simply because he _wanted_ to. The mind just doesn’t work that way.

And so Loki dropped the gold titanium box and held the Mind Stone in his bare palm, closing his eyes and losing himself in the ecstasy of the raw power that immediately began to course through his veins. It didn’t hurt, but it was hypnotic, seductive, _dangerous_. He had allowed himself to completely fall into the lure of the power just twice before, and both times he had only been drawn away from it by the pull of something stronger. Now, though… now he did not have that to fall back on.

But in that very moment, that did not matter because oh, the _power_. The Mind Stone filled Loki’s consciousness, letting him view his own thoughts and those around him with more than simple ease. Someone was concerned, someone was sceptical, both were afraid, and Loki was floating on a cloud of bliss.

_Focus._

Loki forced himself to reign it all in, catching onto the fear he felt from the only two other living things in the Realm and using it to direct his own thoughts, recognising the need to be precise.

The Mind Stone held dominion over everything in the mind, and Loki could, for once, see his own very clearly. Full of horrors and shadows and hope all tangled and snared into a big mess, his mind was not an easy place to traverse. The blackness seemed stronger, at the moment, but he was surprised to see that the net of colour and happiness was far more intrusive than he had believed it to be. Some of the darker memories were brighter in clarity if not in colour, but he pushed them away, looking into the older memories that were lighter than those that came after but not so blindingly bright as those of the past few years. He found her easily among memories that seemed tucked away safely, a memento so carefully treasured that it was too precious to look upon often for fear of tarnish.

She looked young and beautiful, and Loki caught himself pausing to simply admire. In the memory, she was seated on a stool that was far too small for her as she leaned down over a piece of parchment, her finger directing her son’s gaze to particular words or pronunciations.

 _You see?_ Her voice questioned. _You must know exactly how the body works, how it heals itself, so that you can encourage the process to work faster._

But surely I can simply make it do as I wish? Loki asked in return. Surely my magic will make it so?

 _You cannot twist the laws of nature– you cannot force something that isn’t there. You can only guide_.

Helpful, but not perfect news– Loki had, obviously, never had the opportunity nor desire to heal a dwarf before, and so had no idea of how their healing process worked. But he _did_ once have a close up view of a dwarf’s hands working as they should. So Loki looked elsewhere, delving into other memories, not so bright, not so happy, and wrought with desperate acts.

He was flying through the air, his wings moving faster even than a hummingbird’s as he rocketed toward the burning forge. The dwarf wasn’t wearing gloves– dwarves never did, as their hands were built to withstand heat. But insect bites were as irritating to them as they were to any other creature in the Nine. 

Loki knew that it was wrong, knew even as he landed on the dwarf’s strong hands that what he was doing was certainly something that his mother would not approve of. But Eitri had been winning, and Loki could not allow that. He had bet something he was not willing to lose, and he was… afraid.

But Loki hadn’t only bitten Eitri that day in his failed attempt to fix the results of the wager– he had _seen._ For all that flies have complicated eyes their sight is actually terrible, but in Loki’s transformation that day he had kept his own ability to see, not wishing to be distracted in his mission.

Instead of the knowledge of what happened after that fateful day on Niðavellir, instead of thinking about what he could have done differently, Loki focused upon the contours of Eitri’s hands in the memory. He focused on the exact way Eitri’s skin had broken under his bite, how the muscles had flinched, how the blood had pooled. He had bitten the dwarf more than once– he had not taken notice at the time, but by the second bite the first had already clotted, the cells beginning to knit together. With Eitri’s huge size and Loki’s shrunken vision, he had been able to see the very workings of Eitri’s healing. He just hadn’t cared enough to really _look_.

He did now, though, and with the power of the Mind Stone at his beck and call, Loki could see the memory with perfect clarity, could even examine the things he had seen but not actually noted. He couldn’t get _all_ the information about dwarven hands and healing that a professional healer might have wanted, but he could find _enough_.

Then, with the Stone convincing his mind to truly _believe_ that he was capable of performing such a feat, Loki opened his eyes and raised his hands, swirling with not just yellow, and not just green, but a combination of the two. After all, as Eitri had said– the Mind Stone itself could not heal, but it could coax and encourage while Loki’s own seiðr did the work.

The Uru fell away at Loki’s command to leave burned and blistered flesh, melted down to the bone and scorched beyond measure. Eitri cried out as his injuries were exposed to the freezing air, but it only took a quick thought from Loki to delve into the dwarf king’s mind and cut away a small connection, to stop the pain. It wasn’t done out of kindness– Eitri’s fingers had remained still as the tendons had been burned to nothing, unable to move, but the risk of him pulling his hand away remained, and Loki needed stillness to be able to focus. With such power in his own head and with his single-minded focus on what needed to be done the only thing stopping him from falling into the alluring force, Loki didn’t _know_ kindness.

Using his memories of Eitri’s hands from before, he began to coax the crippled flesh into growing anew, muscles knitting back together slowly at first, but then picking up speed as Loki’s confidence grew even further.

 _I can do this,_ he thought to himself, the Stone pushing him along and inflating his self efficacy, his movements becoming more certain in the face of success. _This is easy._

In the corner of his mind Loki became aware of the fear that had threaded through the others moulding into awe as he worked, but he paid them no notice. He merely healed and watched and focused, making sure that the tendons were properly attached, that the fingers would bend with the dexterity that they should, that the skin was clear and smooth. Soon, both hands were as healed as they could possibly be, and after he had reattached all connections in Eitri’s mind he knew that he could step back and let go.

But letting go was not as simple as it sounded.

Loki was invincible– how could he let go of that?

The deed was done but the power was overwhelming. It was a heady thing, the knowledge that nothing was impossible, that miracles could be performed if only one trusted in their ability to do so. Loki could do _anything_ so long as he was confident enough to simply _believe_ that he could—

_Now, I believe that you have been stalling, Loki. Are you able to let go of the Stone, or has the power begun to consume you?_

The voice of the Allfather broke though from Loki’s memory, reminding him of the last time he had been in such a situation, and helping him to shake himself free of the cotton wool the Mind Stone had wrapped around his common sense. He _knew_ such a path would lead only to failure and pain, and he knew from experience what the result of overestimating his ability would be.

 _Loki?_ A different voice this time, holding less contrition, cautious only in an attempt to be kind. _Are you all right_?

It was those very words that had pulled him from the grasp of the Stone the first time he had used it without the mitigating aid of the sceptre, the first time he had almost fallen under its allure. The second time the words had been different but the base motivation to pull through was the same, and Loki knew he would fight and _win_ for the same reason this time.

_Anthony._

With a final scream, Loki forced the power from his mind, pushing it down to his hands and then _throwing_ it away from himself, the Stone clattering to the floor as one of the strongest magical blasts he had ever managed to summon exploded from his palms and shot through the sky like a burning meteor. Loki hadn’t aimed with the direction of his throw but as he released the energy, he had been sure of his intention to use it, and there was enough of a connection left for the semi-sentient artefact to know what he wanted.

_If it couldn’t, it would be uncontrollable._

_It already is._

The star lit up in an explosion of green and yellow, the magic enough of a spark to reignite the once bright entity. The rings surrounding it began to groan as they shifted, the heavy mechanisms struggling under the pressure– but shift they did. They spun slowly at first, but began to pick up speed as the reawakened star energised them, building enough momentum until they were spinning under their own power, producing energy themselves. The darkness of the rings began to be overtaken by new light as forges sparked back to life all across the Realm, the brightness and the movement flowing out from the epicentre of the world, spreading like a wildfire in the heat of summer.

Loki hardly noticed the spectacle, caught up as he was in his own internal struggle. The power was gone, and Loki was back to how he had been before, with the added exhaustion of not only wielding such a power, but also then forcing himself to give it up. Inside his mind, all was quiet, but the eerie silence of the forges had been broken as the crackle of flame and the whirr of mechanics brought the spirit back to Niðavellir.

When Loki opened his eyes, it was to see Eitri staring down at his hands in awe, flexing them and examining their perfectly smooth skin, free from even the smallest of blemishes that no doubt had littered them even before Thanos had wrought their ruin.

Loki, too, was happy with his efforts, no longer conflicted. After all, he was perfectly capable of looking to the future for the path to success– Eitri would certainly be helpful.

“You know what, Loki?” Fandral said, breaking the peaceful silence. “I really _do_ see now why people call you Silvertongue. Your words were very inspiring– you should have spoken to us before battles instead of Thor. I’m sure we would have won far more if you had.”

“Oh, do shut up, Fandral,” Loki groaned tiredly, and Eitri laughed in surprise.

“I suppose all that is left is for me to ask you what you would like for me to make,” the dwarf said. “What is it that you want?”

Loki did not even need to hesitate. He had the greatest weapon smith in the Nine indebted to him now, and while he could ask for a weapon that could ensure he always won his battles, that could kill a person or a _planet_ in an instant– he knew that even Eitri could not create something that could match an Infinity Stone. But Loki already had one of those. He just needed to be able to properly control it.

The first time he had used the Stone without a filter, Anthony had pulled him from its grasp almost immediately. The second had taken a reminder of what might happen if he did not hand it over to Odin. The third had been far too close for comfort– it was getting harder and harder to break free.

Truly, there was only one choice.

“You said that you created Thanos’ Infinity Gauntlet,” said Loki. “I’m not going to ask for a copy, you do not need to worry, I have no desire to hold more than one of these cursed things. But I need you to make me a weapon that will help me harness the full potential of the Mind Stone without losing myself.”

The dwarf was quiet for a few moments, his dark eyes inspecting Loki curiously. Loki didn’t try to hide– he left his emotions clear on his face, knowing that any attempt to mask his expression would be taken as confirmation of insincerity.

Even without the Mind Stone, Loki knew what Eitri was thinking– he was no doubt finding it difficult to believe that Loki truly did not want to try and wield more than the one Stone, that he wanted assistance in controlling it when he had been willing to wield the damn thing to heal the hands of someone he didn’t even like. For that matter, Eitri also must have been doubting Loki’s motivations, knowing that Loki had hated the dwarves for _centuries_ —

“Yes,” Eitri said firmly, holding out one of his restored hands for Loki to shake. “I believe that I can help you with that.”

—•—

Thor and Sif beat them back to Asgard, and were waiting in the main hall when Loki and Fandral arrived.

As curious as he was, Loki didn’t need to ask. Their expressions told the whole story.

“I suppose you were too late, then,” Loki deduced. “You don’t appear to be injured—“

“Thanos got there before us,” Sif interrupted. “That sniffling Collector had already handed over the Aether—“

“The Collector was dead,” said Thor. “There was a group of other creatures there instead. They told us that Thanos had already taken the Aether as well as one of their own number, and then they left.”

“They hadn’t been able to stop him,” Sif snarled. “If we hadn’t wasted time talking at the Bifröst—“

“What-ifs will get you nowhere,” Loki said to her, shutting her up. “What’s done is done. Thanos now has two Infinity Stones. There are only two more out there to find, and we must get to them first.”

“And make sure that Thanos doesn’t take those that we have already,” said Thor, eyeing up Loki’s new weapon.

Loki couldn’t blame him– the weapon Eitri had forged was more deadly and powerful than the last which had housed the Mind Stone. It bore a similar shape, though with less frills and ornaments, the design simple. Where the first had two curved blades its replacement had only the one, the smaller blade curving up to connect with the larger, the space between filled with the yellow Infinity Stone. The entire piece glinted gold by virtue of it being forged from a single piece of metal, rather than the complicated inferior piece forced upon him by the Other, the handle smooth and clear of anything that might hinder his fluid fighting style. The blade was wickedly sharp, and the weapon was far more beautiful than anything Loki had the pleasure to wield the past.

“What happened on Niðavellir?” Thor asked, looking up to catch Loki’s gaze. “What did Eitri say? I am going to guess that you have good news.”

“Well, Eitri remains your ally,” said Loki, shrugging. “Niðavellir will fight for us if required.”

“That is good,” Thor said, though his gaze flickered to Fandral’s dark expression. “Then, why—“

“It would appear that you are not the only one who was too late, brother,” said Loki. “Thanos has also been to Niðavellir. But for Eitri himself, all of the dwarves are dead.”

“Dead?” Thor asked in shock, clearly struggling to process. Sif had frozen in her steps toward Fandral, her eyes widening.

Loki shrugged. “Murdered, slaughtered. I know not how, as Eitri was not particularly forthcoming, but yes. They’re all gone.”

“No,” Sif gasped. “They can’t be.”

“I assure you that I am not lying,” Loki replied, his tone almost cheerful.

“You could show some sympathy,” Thor told him, his tone still a little shellshocked. But stunned or not, Loki couldn’t just let that pass.

“Sympathy?” he repeated with a bitter laugh. “Honestly?”

“A whole race has been killed—“

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “And I do not care.”

“You cannot say such things,” Thor replied, shaking his head, the conversation appearing to allow him to find his feet once more. “Surely you feel something for them– even though you did not like them, you still went to Niðavellir to gain their aid.“

“You sent me there,” Loki shouted, his temper snapping at the falsity. “You remember what they did to me, surely– you better than most. And you know what? It is not just that I do not care. In fact, I am _glad_ that Brokkr is dead.”

“Loki!” Thor gasped.

“ _No_ ,” Loki snapped back. “You do not have the right, Thor! You don’t understand what it is like to be so tormented, to be utterly helpless as you are held down and tortured. I was proud to have saved my head with my words, yet they were stolen from me along with my magic. How can you possibly imagine what that was like? You have fought in battles and you have been injured, but never have you suffered the way I have.”

“I know that,” Thor said. “But that does not justify feeling _gladness_ for someone’s death!”

“Doesn’t it?” Loki asked. He was half aware of Fandral leading Sif out of the room, but he took no notice. “Have you never felt _glad_ for a death? I know you were pleased when I killed Kurse—“

“You cannot be thankful for _genocide_ ,” Thor countered.

“No,” Loki agreed. “Of course not. But Brokkr was a monster, and if you say anything different, Thor—“

“I don’t disagree with that,” said Thor. “What he did to you was wrong, but that does not mean that the entire people deserved what happened to them.”

“It’s not about _deserve_ ,” Loki snapped. “It happened, and now we have to live with it.”

“Thanos is still out there, Loki,” said Thor, clearly picking up on the fact that Loki was not talking about the dwarves– at least, not directly. He may seem like it sometimes, but on no account was Thor slow. “I cannot focus on something that was so far in the past when the bigger threat could hurt you further.”

“Yes, Thanos is still out there,” Loki replied. “I know that, and I know that what Thanos and the Other did to me was far worse than the tiny _maiming_ that I suffered under Brokkr, but—“

“It was not _tiny_ ,” Thor interrupted quietly, his gaze pained. “Loki, do you understand how hard it was to watch that happen to you? You did not scream or flinch, but the _blood_ —“

“Oh, it was hard for you to _watch?_ ” Loki scoffed. “I am so sorry, Thor, do you wish to talk about it? Do you wish to cry to me about how much _you_ suffered—“

“That is not what I meant,” Thor said through gritted teeth. “Listen to yourself, Loki. You take everything I say, and you twist it into something cruel.”

“No.” Loki shook his head once before catching Thor’s gaze, staring into those blue eyes that were just so _courageous_ and just so _kind_ , the blue eyes that had tricked him far too many times before. “I always used to believe that you were being sincere. I always used to believe you when you promised that you would put me, your brother, first, and then I always believed your apology when you inevitably failed to keep that promise. I _always_ did, Thor. But I have grown since then. I’ve been burned too many times, and now I think twice.”

“I never meant to betray your trust, Loki,” Thor tried.

“Well, you did,” Loki snapped. “Many times. I know that I have not been the best brother since your coronation, but before that? What did I do to deserve your constant taunting, or the fact that you allow your friends to belittle my skills? Even now Sif complains that I did not use my ‘tricks’ to help save a place that has only ever seen me as a tool to be used, and you stand by and do nothing.”

“Loki…” Thor said, but Loki was not done.

“My whole life, I have lived in your shadow,” Loki said harshly, his magic rippling and bubbling under his skin, aching to break free and wreak havoc to satisfy Loki’s anger. “No longer, Thor. I won’t stand it. And the next time you want to send someone to help the people who tortured me? You’ll need to find someone else, Thanos or no.”

Thor’s eyes were haunted, his expression broken, and Loki found that he was _pleased_. Perhaps he had finally managed to get through the layer of righteousness and arrogance that protected Thor’s thick skull, to bring him down low enough to see the muffling weight under which Loki had been forever buried.

“If I might interrupt—“

“No, you may not,” Loki snarled, whipping around to face Heimdall, fully aware that his hands were glowing a bright green even as they gripped his new sceptre tightly. The Watcher had clearly just entered in a hurry, the heavy door to the hall still swinging closed behind him.

“You will want to hear this,” said Heimdall.

Loki gnashed his teeth in frustration but Thor nodded for Heimdall to continue.

And then, Loki froze in horror.

“It’s about Tony Stark, the Midgardian,” said Heimdall. “The one who has eaten a golden apple.”

“What about him?” Loki asked– well, _demanded,_ more like, his body tensing even more than it had during the argument, his knuckles turning white against the sceptre. “Where is he?”

“I know not where he is,” said Heimdall. “But I do know that he suffers.”

“I need to go to Midgard,” Loki said immediately, already shifting his grip and preparing the spell. “Don’t try to stop me, Thor.”

“He isn’t on Midgard,” Heimdall replied. “He cries out to me _because_ he is far from his friends. I can hear the Avengers, as well. Their team has been rent in two.”

The sound that fell from Loki’s lips could only be described as a pained whine. “I must find him,” he said.

“I will help,” Thor announced. “Whatever you may think of me, Stark is my friend, too.”

“Help?” Loki asked. “How? You cannot see across the Realms– we do not know where he is!”

Thanos, it seemed, had wounded them again, for Asgard had lost its Watcher.

Without Heimdall’s sight, there was no way that they could—

Loki froze on that thought, his mind whirring as he connected all the pieces. _Of course_. Heimdall had never been the only person in Asgard to be able to see all. It was true that he was the Watcher, and the only person who could see so far without aid, but the Allfather had always been able to gaze upon the happenings of the Nine, so long as he was seated upon—

 _“Hlidskjalf_ ,” Loki gasped, looking up to his brother with desperation in his gaze, previous irritation shoved aside in the face of a greater need. “Thor, please. I know that you will not want to, but—“

“The throne is yours, brother,” said Thor, understanding immediately. “Not permanently, of course, but—“

Loki did not bother to stay for even the rest of Thor’s sentence, already running up the stairs toward the hulking golden throne. He didn’t pause to consider nostalgia or remember his time masquerading as Odin, or his short stint as regent when he had used the power of the throne himself. He simply sat and _looked_ , desperate to find the truth of what had happened.

He looked first to Midgard, to Avengers’ Tower, and he found it in chaos. There were more people there than he was used to, most that he recognised, but some that he did not. A man with a metal arm was being shouted at by Barton, and Romanov stood between them, her pose defensive. Banner was looking green while a dark skinned man with a soothing voice and stranger in a bright red cape worked to calm him down. Maximoff, meanwhile, was staring out of the window, his expression afraid. He was joined by another man that Loki didn’t recognise, who was wearing a suit and holding a phone to his ear, chattering into it with urgency. Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes were also in the room, along with a dark haired woman Loki vaguely remembered from the Helicarrier and the incident with Ultron, and a few more people that he didn’t have the time to bother trying to identify.

The scene and their arguments were all worrying, but Loki only cared that it told him where Anthony was _not_.

Still–

“Midgard is under attack,” he said aloud for Thor to hear. “Or if they are not, they will be soon. The Avengers are trying to organise themselves, but Stark is not there, and neither are Parker and Rogers.”

So where _were_ they? Loki did not even know where to start. But Hlidskjalf was no simple scrying dish– with the obvious exceptions of the Infinity Stones, it was the most powerful object to ever be held in Odin’s possession. It could find anyone.

Loki thought hard, bringing up the image of Anthony to stand clear and bright in his imagination. He filled his mind with Anthony, with the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he moved. He focused on every detail he could, willing Hlidskjalf to search the universe and find the man that Loki’s very spirit cried out for.

Then, in a seamless transition, the picture in Loki’s mind’s eye turned into something very real. Loki flinched at the sight of his Anthony, hovering face down a few feet above the ground with wicked needles imbedded in his skin, his expression determined despite the fact that he was clearly in excruciating pain. It was difficult, but Loki forced his gaze away from the tortured man and looked around the area. He did not recognise it, but he could tell that it was some kind of ship. The movement and the feel of it was synonymous with an engine, and the small, confined area combined with the metal walls, floors, and ceilings led to only the one conclusion. And Loki suspected Heimdall was right– this, after all, was no ship that sailed on the oceans. Anthony was far from home, indeed.

But that meant that he could be _anywhere_.

He continued to scour the scene, looking for a clue as to where they were, where they could be headed—

Then, he saw Ebony Maw.

“They must be going to Titan,” Loki realised, opening his eyes with a snap. That was… that was fine, he would be able to follow the flight path, to track the movements of the ship. He could use the power of Hlidskjalf to guide him, and— “I can find him.”

“Then go,” said Thor immediately. “I will go to Midgard. I will help the Avengers—“

“I don’t care about the Avengers,” Loki snapped, finding no lie in his own words. Sure, they were Anthony’s friends, and they lived in the very building that Loki had claimed for his home. Although… looking upon the chaos in the Tower had not stirred any more rage or worry than he had already felt upon hearing news of Anthony’s plight, as if the Tower itself held little emotional value for Loki. Perhaps finding one’s home was not as much as everyone made it out to be.

“I know that isn’t true,” said Thor, ignorant of Loki’s inner turmoil.

Not willing to waste time on the argument, Loki merely began to gather his magic. If Thor wished to go to Midgard then so be it– but Loki needed to go straight to Anthony. He would _not_ be late this time.

“Brother, wait.”

There was nothing that Loki wanted to do _less_ in that moment than to pause and listen to Thor when he knew that Anthony needed him, but he felt that it would likely do more damage to leave Thor's words unsaid.

“About what you said…” Thor swallowed hard. “I _am_ sorry.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than that,” Loki replied shortly.

“I know.” Thor’s blue eyes were sad, now, wide and honest and full of pain, and this time, despite his best efforts… Loki found it hard to disbelieve him. “I only hope that it is a start.”

—•—

Sky walking had always come easy to Loki– something that other seiðmenn had looked upon with envy, as it was a skill that was most coveted but very rarely mastered. But never before had he run through the branches of Yggdrasil with such swiftness, such desperation, and he had to force himself to slow more than once for fear of a misstep. Hlidskjalf had provided him with a path and he only hoped that the ship was not moving too fast, that he did not come out in the middle of the crushing abyss of deep space—

When he landed, he landed hard, falling to the cold metal floor of the upper deck of a ship. He didn’t recognise it personally, but the décor matched what Hlidskjalf had shown him– and if there were any doubts, he heard a shout from somewhere below him that sounded just like Peter. He hurried to a railing and looked down to see a group of people, only three of which he recognised– but those he didn’t all looked hostile.

Especially the one who had his hands around Anthony’s throat.

Loki’s lips curled into a snarl in the same moment that he appeared between the two groups, sending out a blast of magic only strong enough to force them all apart.

“You shall _not_ harm them,” Loki ordered, raising his sceptre and slamming it back down on the ground threateningly, sending out a blast more powerful than the first aimed only at the assailants. He was satisfied as the group of assorted creatures all fell to the ground, leaving the three Avengers to regain their footing and stand together behind Loki himself.

“Oh, shit.” A man wearing a russet coat looked up to Loki in horror, his curse too familiar for him to be anything but Midgardian. He wasn’t speaking any Midgardian language, though, which was… interesting, but something to be investigated at a later time, for Loki was busy using the sceptre and the Mind Stone to assess the abilities of the threat before him.

“Hey, Loki,” said Peter, and Loki spared him a glance, though he was unwilling to take his eyes from the group of hostiles for too long– and he certainly didn’t want to be distracted by the figure standing beside Peter, for that would not end well.

“You know this guy?” the maybe human asked, his tone laced with incredulity. “You do realise who this is, right?”

Loki couldn’t help but inwardly preen at the recognition, but that held nothing on how he felt at Peter’s response.

“Yeah,” the kid replied. “He’s our friend.”

“And you’ve just confirmed the fact that you’re with Thanos,” the man argued. Honestly? Surely they had not attacked because they believed the Avengers to be working with Thanos? Because they believed _he_ was working with Thanos?

Although, at least if that were the case, it was easily fixed.

“You have an empath, do you not?” Loki asked, not caring that the man had continued to speak. He did not need to wait for a response– he already knew that he was right. “Use her to discover the truth, instead of simply snapping out accusations like a child.”

The empath seemed to agree with Loki’s assessment of her friends’ stupidity, as she said indignantly– “I was trying to tell you. I felt the young one with floppy hair. He was afraid of us, but he does not want to hurt us.”

“I wasn’t  _afraid_ ,” Peter muttered, and he sounded so honestly affronted that despite the situation, Loki had to hold in a laugh.

Just as Loki had predicted, the empath’s word seemed enough to convince the group’s leader of the Avengers’ intentions. Rogers sensed that as well, it would seem, as he moved to talk to the maybe human, effectively bringing an end to the miscommunication.

Since hostilities had ceased, at least for now, there did not appear to be a reason for Loki to continue to deny himself what he truly desired in that moment, so he turned from the scene of budding negotiation and looked instead to the figure already moving toward him. Anthony had been wearing his newest armour that simply melted away from his form with a thought, and by the time he reached Loki, he was simply wearing a torn pair of sweats and a singlet that Loki had seen him in a thousand times before. But he knew that the last time Loki had seen the clothes they had not been dotted with patches of blood, the red stains scattered all over. Before he had the chance to ask, however, Anthony had raised his hands and cupped them gently around Loki's cheeks. Loki leaned into the warm touch immediately, and he decided that those questions could also wait.

“Loki,” Anthony said with a smile, the careful enunciation of his name one of the most enchanting sounds Loki had ever heard. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Loki said, deciding to respond with a joke so as to hide the cliché smile that threatened to encroach upon his expression. “I heard that a rich Midgardian had been kidnapped, and thought it might be you.”

But then Anthony laughed, and Loki couldn’t hold back the smile any longer, his lips curving up of their own accord. It only grew wider as Anthony buried his fingers in Loki’s hair and pulled him close, and Loki sighed with contentment as he wrapped his own arms around Anthony’s back, unheeding of the sceptre that remained in his grasp as he pulled the smaller man against his chest, holding on tightly. It was a euphoria that Loki had not felt in far too long, and he could not help but lean down to brush their lips together in the sweetest of simple touches. He closed his eyes and basked in it, feeling like everything he had missed, every difficulty he had faced in the past few days was being washed away.

It felt… well, it was more than a greeting, but Loki decided to voice that, anyway.

“Hello, Anthony,” Loki whispered, refusing to move away and so inadvertently caressing Anthony’s lips with every word. “I did miss you.”

Anthony smiled, then tilted down his head to rest it on Loki’s shoulder, his arms winding around Loki’s waist. Loki rested his own head upon Anthony’s, breathing deeply and easily for what felt like the first time in far too long.

It was there, clutching tightly to the one thing that he held most dear in the world that Loki’s fears and worries all fell away, leaving him with only the comforting warmth of a perfect embrace. And it was there that Loki finally recognised just how Anthony’s touch, so welcome after their separation, made him feel.

Asgard, Midgard– none of those places held as firm a hold on his heart as did the person in his arms, because even in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by strangers, Loki was certain that he had finally found how it felt to come home. 


End file.
